


A Sweet Place For Bitter People

by Saffronthread



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Ackerman angst, And control issues, Anxiety Attacks, Armin is my son, Bakery and Coffee Shop, But she's also the only mom so there's that, Canonical Character Death, Depression, Erwin is a big dork and I love him, F/M, Hanji deserves more credit, He's too stubborn for hugs tho so idk, I just like writing about cake, I just want Levi to have a friend who doesn't die tbh, I think that's how they flirt, Jean's mom is best mom, Kenny BROKE him, Let's make the original Levi Squad relevant!!, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin) Has OCD, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin) is Bad At Feelings, Levi Needs a Hug, Levi and Emilia's banter gives me life, Levi gets free tea, Levi has trust issues, Levi is just so difficult omg, Like, Like getting him to smile is just SO HARD, Nothing - that's what, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Social Anxiety, Tea is life, and Abandonment Issues, because, but like, but no really, but what do I know?, don't forget the slow burn, fluff is the meaning of life, following canonical events, he's also very suspicious of quiche, i mean it when I say slow burn, idk probs, it's a pie made of eggs??, maybe they eat cake, never forget the fluff, non-military perspective on canonical events, she's kinda like a bartender only with cake instead of liquor, sometimes he gets a free cookie too, that's shady, the angst is real, this world really needs a teashop for Levi to sulk in, what do these people do on their days off, will this have smut?, ya know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-24
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2019-07-16 08:38:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 43,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16082492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saffronthread/pseuds/Saffronthread
Summary: Emilia was a baker and tea enthusiast who owned a small cafe within Wall Rose. Every so often, members of the Survey Corps or the Garrison wandered in during their free time. Levi, however, was a regular customer who sought an hour or two of distance each week from his stressful job. They were two strangers from completely different worlds. One night, just before closing, Emilia decided to strike up a conversation. Turns out, they weren't so different after all.





	1. Say Two Words To Me, I Dare You

**Author's Note:**

> “Cooking is all about connection, I've learned, between us and other species, other times, other cultures (human and microbial both), but, most important, other people. Cooking is one of the more beautiful forms that human generosity takes; that much I sort of knew. But the very best cooking, I discovered, is also a form of intimacy.”  
> ― Michael Pollan, "Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation"
> 
>  

“It’s good to see you again, sir,” Emilia said, taking her notepad out of her apron pocket. She knew she didn’t need to take it out. The man never ordered anything other than plain black tea, but she liked to think he might shake things up one day and order milk or honey along with it. Maybe even a slice of cake if he was feeling particularly spontaneous. If that day ever came, all of the calendars she owned would get marked in bright, celebratory colors. But it was more or less a fool's hope, so she didn't hold her breath. “Will it be the usual tonight?”

“Yeah, thanks,” the man in the dark green military hood answered, keeping his head held up against his hands. _Ah, another bad night_ , she thought.

Emilia made her way over behind the counter to the kitchen where she set the tea kettle on the stove. It was a Sunday night, and business was slow.

Only certain types of people came to her shop past sunset, after all, and Captain Levi was most definitely a certain type of person.

He showed up every Sunday night at seven o’clock on the dot, one hour before closing, when the bakery was almost always empty. More often than not, he would order a pot of plain black tea, maybe two, and stay for the entire hour. Sometimes he brought paperwork with him, sometimes a book. On occasion, he would just stare into space with his hands balled into fists in front of him, his thoughts nearly visible in how they clawed away at him. Those were the nights when Emilia let him stay past closing, only pointing out the time after she had cleaned and prepped for the next morning.

The water began to boil on the stove and Emilia took out a plain black teapot. She poured half the water into the pot and placed the kitchen thermometer inside, waiting for it to reach the right temperature before dumping the water out and scooping the black tea leaves into the strainer. She dropped the strainer to the bottom of the pot and put the thermometer back in before filling it with the latter half of the water. When the thermometer hit the desired temperature, she checked the clock - black tea took five minutes to brew.

There was an art to tea, her mother had taught her, and a lost one at that. Each different type of tea leaf required different times and temperatures in order for their flavors to be properly brought out. Her employees didn’t quite see the difference, but it mattered to Emilia, whose mother spent her life mixing all different types of teas and serving them in her husband’s bakery. Once her parents retired six years ago, Emilia took up the family business at the young age of twenty, adding her own flare to the shop, but holding tight to old traditions.

After five minutes had passed, she used a spoon to fish out the strainer from the darkened liquid and placed the pot on a serving tray, along with a tea cup, a spoon, and a cloth napkin. Between the fold of the napkin, Emilia slid in a freshly baked molasses cookie leftover from a recent order. It was something she typically did when the cracks in his steadfast demeanor started to show. She always gave him a different cookie, trying hard to rotate between flavors so it would always be a surprise.

When she first started doing this, he tried to pay for it, but she never accepted his money, not even for the tea. “You risk your life, Captain,” she had said time and time again. “The least I can do is offer my thanks with a pot of tea and a cookie.” Which was true. Emilia had always nurtured a soft spot for the Survey Corps ever since her older cousin joined and was quickly forced to retire after he lost his legs.

Besides, a pot of black tea was cheap, and the cookies would have gotten thrown out or given away regardless, which she made a point of telling him, but _man_ was he a hard one to convince. He had narrowed his eyes at her reasonings, clearly skeptical, and took to simply leaving money on the table and rushing out before she noticed. That bold approach only led to her leaving his money in between the napkin fold instead of a cookie the following week. “If I were you, I’d just take the cookie,” she would grin. Back then, he would scowl. Now, almost a year later, she couldn’t help but notice how, on rare occasions, the corners of his mouth would twitch up ever so slightly.      

Captain Levi remained in the same position she had left him in, looking even smaller than usual under the cover of his military cloak and hood. He always wore that when he came, despite the fact that no one was ever around, not even the other employees, who had long since gone home for the night, but it was clear he was adamant on remaining unrecognized.

Who he thought he was fooling was beyond her, but Emilia wasn’t about to open that particular can of worms.  

“Here you go, sir,” she said as she placed the tray down on the table. “If there’s anything else I can get you, please let me know.”

“Thanks,” he said absentmindedly. It wasn’t difficult to piece together what had been bothering him - news of the Survey Corps and their missions outside the wall were public knowledge. Every newspaper in print contained an ample supply of news updates, opinion articles on why the branch should be disbanded, how they were wasting taxpayers’ money (accompanied by impressive graphs and pie charts), how Commander Smith was willingly sacrificing his comrades, and so on and so forth. For such a small group, they attracted a great deal of attention, and no one shouldered that scrutiny more than Commander Smith and Captain Levi. No doubt it was a stressful burden.

But it was obvious that this week was a special breed of stress, one that had been dormant since the fall of Wall Maria: the invasion of Trost. News of the titan attack spread like wildfire, and the rumors floating around about a new military weapon were hard to ignore. Emilia wished she could ask him about it, maybe let him vent out his frustrations, but surely there were enough people in his life to fill that role. Besides, she got the sense that discussing his personal affairs with a stranger was not his cup of tea. So she went back into the kitchen and began to prep for the following morning.

The hour went by quickly, the only sound being from the Captain refilling his cup with more tea. His silence was a comfortable one and Emilia didn’t feel awkward going out to the front room to wash down the empty tables or sweep the floor. He never so much as looked up at her while she cleaned, so his presence never induced the familiar discomfort of having a man watch her as she leaned over to scrub the tables, or bent down to brush crumbs in her dustpan.

It was nice.

When closing time came, she flipped the sign on the door, but said nothing to the man brooding at the corner table. Instead, she waited until she had finished her tasks and was ready to leave herself before approaching him.

“Mind if I take this?” she asked, motioning towards the empty pot and cup.

He looked up at her for the first time that night, “Right, I’ll be going.” While his tone usually sounded the same on the surface, Emilia noticed the way his words lacked the sharpness they usually held. He stood, the top of his head reaching just below her nose, and started for the door.

“You okay?”

He stopped, turning back slightly with slightly wider eyes. She had never asked him that before, never asked him _anything_ about himself before. This was a bakery, after all, not a tavern. But something in her gut tugged at her when she saw the military hero looking so … defeated. It wasn’t something she could explain, maybe her nurturing instincts were taking over, or maybe the curiosity that had accumulated over the past year had finally snapped, but the words had come out before she really thought about it and it was too late to take them back.

“You pick shitty times to start conversations. Don’t you have a teapot to clean?” Though the words themselves were harsh and more than a little rude, his tone said otherwise. He sounded tired. No, more than that. Exhausted.  

“Heh, I suppose I do,” she responded, picking up the tray. “Have a good night, Captain.”

He turned and started back towards the door, opening it just enough for him to slip through. “Thanks for the cookie,” he said just before clicking the door shut.    


	2. Eld Jinn: Forget Me Not

Emilia took her time icing the three-layered lemon cake, careful to make sure that every flower made from the pink and yellow buttercream had equal amounts of petals. She placed the flowers around the base of the cake, which was frosted in a pale green hue, and all around the top in perfect symmetry. The customer requested that the cake resemble a garden, so she added leaves to the flowers in a darker shade of green. In the center of each flower was a sugar glazed raspberry, which complemented the raspberry jam filling in between each layer. The sides were left as they were, smooth and unblemished, making the cake appear taller than it really was. Precision was a virtue, her mother had always said, and it was one not meant for the lazy at heart.

Emilia was a lot of things, but lazy was not one of them.  

After placing the cake in a box that read “Dolce” on the side in pale red letters, and wrapping a bright bow around it, Emilia carefully brought it out to the space behind the counter reserved for orders that were ready to be either picked up or delivered. This one in particular was to be picked up.

The bakery was a comfortable size, which fit perfectly with the vision Emilia had for her business ever since she was a child. Her dream was to have a place where customers could go by themselves, or in small groups, to escape from whatever unpleasantries were plaguing their lives. A sweet place for bitter people, her few employees liked to call it, and they weren’t wrong.

The flow of customers was steady, which was not unusual for a Wednesday afternoon. People tended to need a pick-me-up to get them through the latter half of the week. Each of the six tables were occupied and there was a line of customers waiting to order.

This was good.

Lukas, Emilia’s longest employee to date, had just left to make a delivery, and Esther, an assistant baker who was supposed to be at the register, had just gone to the back room to grab more coffee grounds.

This was bad.

It’s not as though Emilia was inept at taking down orders or calculating prices, it’s just that she would almost always rather scrub the bathroom floors than be forced to make small talk with a line of strangers. One customer? No problem. Especially if they were seated. When she waited on a customer, she would write down their order and then walk away. Most customers didn’t usually talk to her since the longer they chatted, the longer it would take for them to get served. She loved having that agency to simply _leave_ in the middle of a conversation and never have it get picked up again. They didn’t follow her and couldn’t watch her work behind the counter, they just sat there exactly where she left them. It was ideal.

To-go customers were different, with the geographical advantage of being _right there_ . They had the ability to order, and then _make uncomfortable small talk while she worked_. Emilia crumbled under that kind of pressure and ended up sounding like airhead, or an ass. Nothing in between.

There were six customers in line, so the baker braced herself and approached the counter.

“Hi, how may I help you today?”

The woman, roughly in her mid-forties with tied back brown hair, wanted chamomile tea and a slice of pound cake. Perfect.

She also wanted to know where Emilia got her earrings. Not perfect.

“Oh, they were my mother’s,” she responded with a practiced smile, reaching her left hand up to hold the opal stone between her fingers. Her mother had given them to her as a gift when she first took over the bakery a few years back. Apparently, they originally belonged to her great-grandmother.

“They’re lovely, dear,” the woman said. “Where is your mother from? You don’t find stones like that in these parts.”   

“Uhhh, she’s from one of the western districts of Wall Maria. I forget the name of it, but my mom said that these stones were pretty common there,” she responded, hoping that would be the end of this particular line of questioning.  

“Oh, how sad,” the woman said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a coin purse. “You know, you really are a lovely girl. How old are you? I have a son who just joined the Survey Corps and he really is a hardworking--”

“Here you go, ma’am,” Emilia interrupted, handing over the hot tea and a paper bag with a slice of pound cake in exchange for a few coins. “Thank you, come again!”   

_Ugh._

“I’m back!” Esther, a petite girl of nineteen, appeared behind her. “Sorry it took me so long, I was having trouble finding the --”

Emilia held up a hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll take those, you hold down the register.” She grabbed the bags of ground coffee and went back to the kitchen to brew a new pot. There was a small window between the kitchen and the front room, just big enough for the bakers to check if there were any unattended customers waiting by the counter. It was also just large enough for the scent of whatever was in the oven to travel out and fill the entire store.

“Eld! Hi!” Esther’s voice was soft, but high pitched, which made her enthusiasm sound all the more genuine.

“Hey Esther,” a man’s voice said. “I’m here to pick up a lemon cake.”

“Let’s see… Ah! Here it is! So, what’s the occasion?” Emilia picked through the small window to see the tall blond man with his hair in a loose ponytail. He looked familiar, that much was certain, but she couldn’t place her finger on where she had seen him before.

“It’s my fiancée’s birthday today, so I wanted to get her something special,” the man, Eld, replied.

“I didn’t know you got engaged! Congratulations!”

“Thank you, yeah, it was just a few months ago. We’re still trying to decide on a date. It’ll hopefully be soon, though,” he said, just having paid for the cake. “Actually, now that I’m here, do you guys do wedding cakes?”

“Sure do! Wanna talk with the owner? She handles all that stuff.”

“That’d be great actually.”

Emilia took two steps back from the window. She enjoyed eavesdropping, but getting caught doing so wasn’t something she made a habit of. “Emilia!” Esther called over. “Someone here wants to ask about a wedding cake!”

“Be right out,” she called back, grabbing the wedding menu from its usual spot on the shelf. Eld was much taller than she initially thought, but up close she was certain she had seen him somewhere before outside of work. “Hello, sir. I hear congratulations are in order?”   

“Thank you, thank you,” he said politely, but there was an undertone that implied he had heard the same sentiment hundreds of times already. “I was wondering how far in advance we would have to put the order in?”

_Finally, someone’s speaking my language._

“Three weeks,” she replied. “I have a menu here for wedding cakes if you’d like to look it over, but the order forms have more details regarding the specifics. They’re back in the tasting room if you’d like to draw up a rough outline? Maybe take a copy home to your fiancée?”

He smiled and took the offered menu, looking it over as he said, “Sure, why not. I have some time.”

The tasting room was exactly what it sounded like: a spare room that branched off from the kitchen where customers would go to taste test cakes for larger orders. Wedding cakes, for example. It was a small room with a dark red carpet and white walls. There was a small bookcase along the wall filled with cake books for customers to flip through if they were having a hard time coming up with designs. Two plain couches sat across from each other with a low wooden table separating them. On the table was a pile of order forms, which listed the details concerning layers, fillings, frostings, and prices, next to a small cup filled with a few pens.

“Take a seat, make yourself comfortable,” Emilia said, switching over to her business tone. They sat across from each other, Eld flipping back and forth between the menu and the forms, eyebrows rising higher and higher on his forehead.

“You have so many options, it’s hard to narrow them down,” he said, letting out a slightly nervous chuckle.

“We get that a lot, don’t worry. Most people feel overwhelmed when they see the list on paper, but once you and your fiancée come in for a taste test, it’ll be much easier. Plus, if you do a two or three tier cake, you can pick a different flavor for each layer,” she said, pulling out a clipboard and pen. “So, do you have a rough estimate on a date, or is that still up in the air?”  

“We haven’t finalized a date yet, but we want it to be soon. I’m in the Survey Corps and an expedition beyond the wall is coming up in a month’s time. The hope is to set the date within a few weeks after I get back. No more than a month after.”

“That’s very soon, but I like the ambition.” _Huh, the Survey Corps. I wonder if this guy works with the Captain._

They went back and forth on flavors and fillings, which led to them scheduling a date for a tasting. Eld was a cool guy once he started to warm up to her -- funny, but in a lighthearted cocky kind of way. He was handsome and he knew it, making various jokes about how titans always tried to catch pretty boys like him first.

“So,” he started, getting back on topic, “what are some of the more popular combinations? I feel it might be helpful for me to know the final decisions of all the clueless grooms who came before me.”

Emilia paused and put her clipboard down, thinking back to the past few dozen wedding cakes she had made. “Well, for bigger receptions, a lot of people tend to veer towards the rum cake with a dark chocolate buttercream, since you can’t really go wrong with _more_ liquor at a wedding. And the strawberry filling is popular across the board. Would you like me to have a sample ready for your taste testing?”

“Hmm, sounds about right. As it happens, my fiancée can’t drink. We’re on the fence about whether or not to have a dry wedding.”

“A bold move. I hope you’re prepared for the inevitable riot,” she joked.

“Yeah, we’re bracing ourselves,” he said with a smile, fiddling with the end of his ponytail. “But better safe than sorry.”

_Oh._

“Safe? If you don’t mind my asking, is she…” _Pregnant?_

“Yeah, she is,” his face brightened as he said it, as though someone had just set off fireworks behind his eyes. “We’re really excited, but we want to have the ceremony before she starts showing. She wants to wear her mother’s wedding dress and doesn’t want to alter it,” he waved his hand as though shooing away a fruit fly.

“That’s so exciting! I’m so happy for you!” _I ought to give them a discount._

Eld left not long after that, lemon cake in hand, leaving behind the promise to be back soon with his fiancée to finalize the details. The tasting appointment was set for a few days after he was expected to return from the expedition.

“Looking forward to your next visit! Have a safe expedition.”

“Thanks. And same here,” he replied, halfway out the door. “I’ll be back before you know it.”


	3. You Can Put Your Claws Away Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.”  
> ― William Shakespeare

On Sunday evening, at exactly six fifty-nine, the weekly countdown began. It was a slow night, which was normal, and the last of the cookies had just been sold off less than an hour before. With her elbows leaning against the smooth countertop, Emilia watched the clock that hung above the front door.

Captain Levi walked in nineteen seconds after seven, paperwork in hand, and immediately sat at the same table he always occupied -- the one in the far back corner, which was intentionally kept freakishly spotless at all times. It didn’t take long to piece together his rather aggressive opinions on cleanliness, so prepping for his arrival each week became habitual for the baker. No need for a repeat of his first encounter with Lukas.

As a matter of fact, the Captain’s weekly visits were the sole reason why Lukas didn’t work on Sunday nights anymore.

Emilia waited a minute before heading to his table, giving him time to organize the various piles of paper he had brought with him. After the minute was up and the man was settled in, she approached his table, notepad and pen in hand. “Hello, Captain. The usual?”

“Yes, thank you,” he replied without looking up at her.

While waiting for the water to boil, Emilia studied her solitary customer. He leaned his head against his left hand while sorting through papers with his right, occasionally scribbling what could only be his signature at the bottom of a page or two. While his disinterested facial expression remained much the same as usual, his body language screamed utter boredom, which was usually the case where paperwork was involved.  

Come to think of it, perhaps Emilia had picked up on more of his mannerisms than she initially realized.  

For instance, there were only minor differences between his “I’m-so-bored-please-kill-me” expression, and his “I’m-so-annoyed-I-might-kill-you” demeanor, but the contrast became more and more apparent with each passing Sunday. There were two major clues that he was annoyed to the brink of being pissed off: the first was that he would show up an hour earlier than normal. The second, which was far more telling, was when he started to glare at individual pieces of paper as though he held a life-altering grudge against the trees they spawned from. True, it’s arguable that he technically glares at most things, but this glare was different. This glare was something that could be _felt_.

Realistically, the latter could pop up at anytime, but it _always_ happened on his early visits. Those were the days when Emilia tried to keep her distance, however they also happened to be the days when he would order multiple pots of tea and drink through them all, gaining an impressive amount of momentum with each cup. The man must have had either a bladder of steel, or the ability to convert liquids into energy for his furious scribbling, because he never once asked to use the restroom.

Tonight was a boring night, which meant he would only order two pots of tea.

After five minutes had passed, the tea was brewed and ready to be served. “Here you go, sir,” she said, setting the tray down. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

He shook his head no and returned to reading the small, dense text on the page he was holding.

Luckily, Emilia had more than just cleaning and prep work to do that night. A customer was scheduled to stop by early the next morning to pick up an order for a chocolate tart, which was one of the easiest desserts on the menu.

The brown butter crust had been baked earlier in the afternoon and had long since cooled, now all that was left was the filling. While the heavy cream was heating up on the stove, Emilia chopped the dark chocolate into tiny pieces. When it began to boil, she removed it from the heat and stirred the chocolate in until it melted into the cream, creating a silky smooth consistency. She added in a couple scoops of chocolate buttercream to both sweeten and thicken the mixture, then poured it into the pie crust, rapping it against the counter a couple of times to even out the filling. All it needed now was to chill overnight.

_Hmm, what should I do with this leftover filling?_

“Oi,” the Captain called out from the front room. It was all he ever said when he wanted a new pot. Emilia refilled the kettle and put it back on the stove.

“It’ll be ready in a few minutes,” she called back, simultaneously thinking through her inventory before landing on an idea. She went out to the front and opened up the display case below the counter. Twelve perfectly rounded cream puffs were left, and they certainly wouldn’t be sold before closing, so the tray was brought back into the kitchen.

Cream puffs were an underrated dessert. Fluffy, buttery dough filled with cream and sprinkled with powdered sugar was the pastry equivalent of biting into a cloud. Plus, they were versatile; just about any other flavor could be added and they would still maintain their cloud-like properties. Cinnamon sugar? Fantastic. Chopped hazelnuts? Amazing. Apricot jam? Brilliant. A dark chocolate coating?

_Heavenly._

While the tea brewed, the tops of the cream puffs were dunked in the remaining chocolate filling and placed in a to-go box. The final decision was to give them to the Captain, partly because she would have had to throw them out otherwise, and partly because she knew from Eld that the Survey Corps had an upcoming expedition next month. And, as it happens, somewhere over the course of the past year, Emilia had begun nurturing a soft spot for those reckless soldiers.

She brought the tea tray and the box out to the man who, to his credit, was still diligently reading and signing his way through a pile of papers. “Here you are,” she placed the box on the chair next to him, then used her free hand to swap the old tea tray with the new one.

“What’s that?”

“Cream puffs.”

“I didn’t order that.”

“I’m aware,” she said playfully, rolling her eyes.

“Then why are you leaving them there, you shitty brat?” Uh-oh. While his voice was calm, the glare was beginning to rise to the surface.

“It’s a gift,” she replied, holding up her hands. “I come in peace, sir.”

“What for?”

“Being a loyal customer.”

“You know I never pay. What kind of shit are you getting at?” His eyes narrowed, which was intimidating, but the action also scrunched up his nose a little and made his face look even smaller than it already was.

“There are other ways you compensate,” she said, giving him the biggest, most non-suspicious smile she could muster up.

“Oh _really_? Such as?”

“Maybe I enjoy your company.”   

Well, that shut him up real good.

It was true, though. Emilia had come to look forward to Sunday nights. While it’s true that Captain Levi’s presence made her feel safer -- being a woman alone in a store at night lead to certain anxieties that were all too justified -- it is also equally true that, though she didn’t _know_ him too well by conventional standards, him and his odd temperament grew on her.   

_But regardless, this guy’s still a headache and a half._

He stared at her for an uncomfortable few moments, jaw slightly hung open, as though he were trying to decide if she was telling the truth.

“Uhh,” was all he said.

“Oi, Captain, just take the box. They’re cream puffs, not poison, there’s no need to get all worked up about it. I enjoy your company while I close up shop, and I appreciate the work you do outside the walls. I know I could never be brave enough to do that, and the fact that you do it all the time is admirable to me. Is that so strange?”

“No… I guess not,” he said, still skeptical. Surely he thought it was in fact strange.

“Alrighty then. Glad that’s settled. My goodness, you military men are always so stuffy,” she huffed.

“Hmm. Maybe.” He went back to his paperwork, but watched her from the corner of his eye as she got up to start the prep work for the next morning.

His things were already gathered and ready, but he waited to leave after she had finished cleaning his second teapot, which was a first. Even on the bad days, he only stayed until the lateness of the hour had been pointed out. Piles of papers, now in their respective folders, were under his left arm, and he held the box with his free hand.

“Thanks. For this,” he added, lifting the box only to quickly lower it back to his side.

“No problem, I hope you like them,” Emilia said as she held open the front door for him. “Will I be seeing you again next Sunday?”

He sighed. “Anything could happen between now and then. We don't know what tomorrow will look like, so I don't count on anything.”

“Right, right. I suppose you're right. Well, I guess I’m looking forward to finding out in that case,” she said over her shoulder as she locked the door behind her.

“Yeah. Me too.”

They parted there, each one going in a different direction. _He’s a strange, oddly sensitive man_ , she reflected, thinking back to the first real conversation they’d ever had. It wasn’t unusual to give the late-night customers boxes of unsold pastries, they would get thrown out otherwise, so she never thought he would have such a strong, distrusting reaction to the gesture. Normal customers visibly brightened. Normal customers thanked her and made a habit of staying late more often. Normal customers didn’t swear and get angry over a cream puff.

But, somehow, she couldn’t help but think of Captain Levi as more than just a normal customer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like chocolate tart, or are looking for a super easy dessert to make, then might I recommend [this recipe](https://www.lifeloveandsugar.com/raspberry-nutella-tart/) as it's delicious and has Nutella in it <3


	4. Love is a Smoke and is Made with the Fume of Sighs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The only way to find true happiness is to risk being completely cut open.”  
> ― Chuck Palahniuk
> 
>  
> 
> (chapter title is a quote from Romeo and Juliet, btw)

“You want a dozen?”

“If it wouldn't be too much trouble,” Petra said, twirling her light brown hair around her finger.

“When do you leave?”

“Tomorrow afternoon. Two o’clock.”

“That’s rather sudden!”

“Yeah, but we’re members of the Survey Corps! We’re always ready for the next mission,” she said proudly, pounding her right fist over her heart in salute.  

“No doubt about that. Would you be able to stop by early in the morning, in that case? Maybe six?”

“Don't you open at nine?”

“We do, but a special request requires special attention. And these things take a while to make,” Emilia smiled. “Can you make it?”

“Yes!”

 

~

 

Saturday morning came quickly. Emilia woke before the sun broke across the horizon, just before four. Stretching her limbs off the edge of the bed, she reached for the bedside table and fumbled around until her fingers landed on metal-framed glasses. Once her vision came into focus, she pushed off her blankets and willed her feet to fall to the floor.

After having showered and dressed, she went to the kitchen to make a quick breakfast -- two eggs with toast and a mug of dark roasted coffee. She flipped through her father’s old recipe book, which, on the surface, appeared to be just an ordinary, worn down notebook with various stains along the edge of the pages. In reality, it was anything but. Her father had written down all of his most prized recipes that he had spent a lifetime crafting and perfecting, so when he had left the fruits of his labor behind after he retired, she made sure it never left the safety of her apartment. Of course, she had copied down the entire notebook, cover to cover, in a leather-bound book so not to lose a single bit of her father’s work, but it simply wasn’t the same. Her father’s big, loopy script was part of the magic, part of what made the food so good. She flipped through it every morning, rereading and committing to memory her favorite recipes the way a child would obsess over a bedtime story, serving as a constant reminder of why she loved the bakery as much as she did.

Good food brought people together, her father had taught her. Strangers could be turned into friends within the course of a single meal, and those bonds could change the course of their lives forever.

Her father, Elijah, was a timid man, one who fell prey to frequent bouts of depression. During the bad days, and there were many bad days, when getting dressed or leaving the house was too heavy a burden, and he found he was both too sensitive and yet too numb to face his family, he would communicate through the only passion he had ever known: baking.

Emilia grew up knowing her father loved her by the way he made hearts out of chopped up chocolate in her cookies, or by how he (reluctantly) undercooked the brownies just a little bit so they’d be gooey the way she liked them. In the same light, she knew when he felt as though he was drowning by the ease in which his honey cakes crumbled as soon as they were picked up, or in the way his frostings refused to spread. Yes, food was a tightrope that connected people on an emotional level, an honest expression of the heart between the one who cooked and the one who ate. No words were required when feelings were expressed through food, and that was exactly how Emilia liked it.   

 _Today’s order will be perfect_ , she promised to herself. _I won’t let Petra down._

 

~

 

There were two reasons why cinnamon rolls were a not-so-secret off-menu item. First and foremost, cinnamon, along with many other spices, could only be purchased behind Wall Sina, so Emilia had to journey out twice a year to stock up. The second, which mattered more in the eyes of the baker, was that cinnamon rolls were best served within an hour out of the oven while they were warm to the touch and the glaze still melted into the crevices. If they were sitting out all day and cooled down, a central part of their charm wore off, and they took too long to make to have multiple batches in one day. While other bakeries didn't weigh the peak quality over the profit of selling products with harder to obtain spices, Emilia stuck to her guns and only made the swirled cinnamon buns upon special request.

Petra Ral was well aware of this particular standard, or at least her father was. Mr. Ral had been a regular customer since Emilia's parents owned the bakery, and he would often bring his daughter along with him to pick out a dessert for the evening. Petra was only two years younger than Emilia, so they had gotten along well enough as children, though they had seen considerably less of each other once Petra joined the military, and _especially_ after she joined the Survey Corps. But the times they did have a chance to see each other, either by running into each other in the market or from Petra passing by the bakery, were both nostalgic and bittersweet. They spoke to one another with an awkward fondness, each knowing that, had their lives taken a different turn somewhere along the way, the two would have been as close as sisters.

Emilia longed for a reality where those turn of events came to pass.

When six o’clock rolled around, Emilia had already been at the bakery for the better half of an hour working on the rolls, which involved a great deal of waiting for the elastic dough to rise and several rounds of kneading.

A soft knock came at the front door. Petra's slim but firm frame was visible through the glass stained by morning fog. Rain was coming.

“You made it,” Emilia said, holding the door open. “I was worried. More often than not people have a hard time waking up at this hour.”

“I usually have a lot of early mornings in the Corps. My captain makes it nearly impossible for anyone to oversleep,” she giggled in a girlish manner that didn't quite fit with Emilia's perception of a titan-killing soldier. She was wearing her military uniform, save for the vertical maneuvering gear, which made the scenario seem even more out of place.

They went back into the kitchen. Not many people were allowed back there aside from the other employees, but a special exception was made for Petra, who had snuck in several times with Emilia as a child and had long since been immune to high temperatures and the overwhelming smell of butter.

“So, you’re getting sent out to an old castle in the middle of nowhere until your next mission?”  

“Yeah, that’s the gist of it. The anticipation of being on standby makes me almost as nervous as the mission itself sometimes,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck. “But Captain Levi never looks worried, and that always puts me at ease. It makes me feel as though we’ll definitely make it back safely, which I know is a naive thought to have, but I can’t help feeling that way sometimes.”

“Captain Levi? The little guy? You’re on his squad?”

“Ah, yes! I guess I forgot to tell you, it’s been a while since we last caught up. He handpicked me to be on his special operations squad, which is truly an honor.” She looked down at her hands as she says this, twiddling her thumbs as a slight blush peaked along her cheeks. “Wait,” she looked back up, “do you know him?”

“Yeah, he comes here almost every Sunday night to do paperwork and infect my store with his piss poor attitude,” Emilia chuckles. “He’s a good guy. I’m glad to hear he’s also a good leader to you.” Emilia began rolling out the dough flat on the island table in the middle of the kitchen.

“I didn’t realize he came here so often. I always wondered where he disappears to… Are you two … close?” The sudden look of panic in Petra’s eyes did not go unnoticed.

“Don’t worry, Petra, we’re barely acquaintances. Plus, I have zero interest in your boyfriend.”     

“He’s -- he’s not my boyfriend! Don’t say that out loud!” The blush grew twice, maybe even three times in size, spreading from her cheeks to her ears to her neck. Emilia couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, whatever you say,” she teased, spreading the cinnamon-sugar mixture across the flattened dough and rolling it up.

“I mean it! He’s not!”

“But you wish he were?” She began cutting the dough into twelve equal parts and transferring them into the baking pan. She placed a damp cloth over the pan and set them aside on the table so the dough could continue to rise, all the while not paying any mind to the gaping reaction of her companion.

“Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, it’s written all over your face.” As far as Emilia knew, Petra was never one to hide how she was feeling; she wore her heart like badge of honor on her sleeve and dared the world to try breaking it. If she felt strongly about something, she would undoubtedly say whatever was on her mind in the most graceful, yet direct manner possible. It was a different kind of courage, one that was so completely foreign to the baker that oftentimes she had difficulty understanding why these types of people acted the way they did. Communicating through words was always a challenge for Emilia, a skill she was always trying to improve upon. It was easier for her to armor herself with indifference or sarcasm than it was to be straightforward with her own emotions. At the best of times, the food she baked did the real talking, but she knew that was a language that went over the heads of most. Even after years of running her own business, being direct with her words still required constant practice. It was easier with her employees, but when it came to family? Friends?

She thought back to her conversation with the Captain: _“Maybe I enjoy your company,”_ she had said to him. It took a lot of practice for her to be able to say something so simple and honest to someone without immediately backtracking and joking it off, or acting as though it meant nothing at all, yet she knew that her experience was not the same as Petra’s. Petra could sew words together like silk, beautiful by design and soft to the touch, and others were drawn to her because of it.

But seeing her get so flustered, so unwilling to talk out how she felt, made even less sense -- while Emilia herself related to this particular reaction, it just wasn’t in Petra’s nature to behave in that fashion. Such a contradiction was off-putting.

A light rain had begun to fall outside, tapping against the windows and leaving trails of clarity against the fogged up glass.

“You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”

Petra didn’t exactly answer the question right away, but more so danced around it. “You know…” she started, hesitant, mulling over the words in her head. “People say all these things about him, you know? How he’s this brave, _mighty_ hero who can save all of humanity, who can take down any titan in his path, can kill hundreds of them all on his own. And they’re not wrong to think that, but…” she paused, leaning her elbows against the flat surface of the island. “But he’s so much more than that.” An underlying despondency tainted her voice, and her eyes were distant, like she was gazing upon something too far away for Emilia to see, but the shine in those eyes were gentle, affectionate. Longing. “I can’t help but think he’s amazing, and, if I’m being honest, falling for him was as inevitable as the sun rising. But… but sometimes I get the feeling that he thinks I like him for his reputation as a hero, and not because of his compassion for our comrades, his awkward way with words, the way he needs a room to be spotless before he can even think about sitting down in it, or even how he holds his teacup… But I can’t say those things to him. So I try being subtle about it, the way _you_ are, and I wake up extra early to make his tea, I clean without being asked, and I always try to ask him how he’s doing, or if there’s anything more I can do to be useful. I know he trusts me, and I’m grateful. But I don’t think… I just don’t think he realizes… and I don’t know what to do anymore, is what I’m trying to say..”

“I see,” Emilia said thoughtfully. She checked the uncooked cinnamon rolls in the pan, which had properly risen and were ready to go into the oven. “Believe it or not, I think I might understand a fraction of how you’re feeling.” Once the pan was in the oven and the timer was set, she turned to Petra and looked her straight in the eye for the first time since walking through the front door. “Is that why you ordered these?”

She sighed, “I never forgot how you and your dad used to stuff all of your feelings into your baking, how you were able to understand each other without ever saying a word. And I’m willing to try anything at this point.”

“And you can’t just tell him?”

“Of course not! He’s my superior. It’s one thing if he picks up on it, but saying it out loud… well, that’s different. I can’t pursue him, it would have to be the other way around,” she paused. “I wish things were different, but I also don’t want anything to change. I want him to know how I feel, to move forward, but I don’t want to compromise my position in his life. Sometimes I think that just knowing him is enough, but other times I feel like my heart might explode from how far apart we are. It’s like being split in half, almost like a--”

“Like a contradiction?”

“Yes! Exactly like that! Only it’s alive and breathing down my neck, growing and twisting at every turn I take. I’m exhausted, but I’ve never felt more alive. I feel lighter than air, but bogged down by an anchor. How is it possible to feel so many opposites at the same time? Is that even _normal_?” She used her sleeve to rub the corners of her eyes, which were noticeably red by that point.

Emilia smiled, a genuine smile, the feeling that she finally, _finally_ , understood her childhood friend, and connected with her in a way she never could before, flooded her with an overwhelming, infectious warmth. “You sound pretty normal from where I’m standing.”

 

~

 

“The rain stopped,” Petra remarked an hour later, to-go box in hand. “Now it'll be easier to ride to the base.”

“Yeah,” was all Emilia could say in return. Time had gotten too far ahead of them, and now their sudden parting left her limbs feeling numb. “Don’t forget that those need to be eaten while they’re still warm. Within the hour, I would say.”

“Will do. The squad is meeting soon to prepare the horses, so I’ll give it to them then,” she looked down at the box and tightened her grip. “I’ve decided I’m going to tell him.”

“What?”

“Once the mission is over. I think I’m going to tell him. Though, I might end up backing out in the end, but… but he always tells us to make decisions we won’t regret.”  

“Wow, Petra, I’m really excited for you. It’ll do you some good to get it all off your chest.”

“Let’s hope so. Thanks for this, Em,” she said, motioning to the box. “And for listening.”

“Anytime. For you, anytime.”

Petra leaned in for a hug, and Emilia would never forget how sturdy the soldier’s arms were, her muscles that held a firmer embrace than expected, or how her hair smelled like fresh lavender.

“Will you come back?” Emilia asked, rushing through her words before the anxiety creeps in to draw a blank in her mind. “After you tell him, will you come back? I would really love to hear how it went.”    

Petra’s smile was radiant, illuminated tenfold by the angle of the early sun that flooded the room, and the baker couldn’t help but think it impossible for Captain Levi to not already love her. “Of course I’ll be back,” she said, halfway out the door. “Just wait, you’ll see me again in no time. And maybe next time, you can teach me how to make these myself.”

“It’s a deal.”  

Emilia watched as her friend walked further and further away, disappearing into the direction of the rising sun, until the only thing left in sight were the wings of freedom on her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're looking for a fantastic cinnamon roll recipe, I recommend [this](https://www.jocooks.com/recipes/cinnabons-cinnamon-rolls/) or [this](https://www.bonappetit.com/recipe/cinnamon-rolls-with-cream-cheese-glaze-2)  
> I've made both and swear by them!


	5. All That Lives Must Die, Passing Through Nature To Eternity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Her absence is like the sky, spread over everything.”  
> ― C.S. Lewis, A Grief Observed
> 
>  
> 
> (also, chapter title is a Hamlet quote)

News of the lastest expedition’s death toll traveled quickly within Wall Rose, but the specifics weren’t released until the following week. Emilia had the early shift, already preparing for the day before the list was even released. By the time Lukas brought her a copy of that morning’s newspaper, it was already well past noon. Her eyes scanned through the smudged ink of the obituaries and froze when she landed on the name she worried most about seeing.

_Petra Ral._

The newspaper fell out of Emilia’s suddenly numb fingers and the pages scattered around her feet. She made no move to pick them up. Instead, she went back into the kitchen to knead and re-knead dough, over and over again, until Esther had placed a hand on her shoulder to signal the end of her shift.

“Go home,” the girl said calmly, slowly. “Get some rest. We’ll be okay here if you want to take a few days to yourself.”  

Lukas stood in the threshold of the kitchen and offered to walk her home. “I have a delivery in your area anyway. I want to make sure you get in okay.”

Their words fell on deaf ears, but she allowed Lukas to lead her away by the arm anyway. Outside, the people were in a mix of mourning and outrage. Groups of men and women gathered in the streets, demanding the disbandment of the Survey Corps, the arrest of Erwin Smith, and proper compensation to the families of fallen soldiers.

“It's absurd!” A man leading the pack shouted. “We’re forced to hand over a fifth of our earnings in taxes just to give Smith free reign to feed our children to titans!” The crowd shouted their agreement as Lukas and Emilia passed, some suggesting they riot at the Survey Corps headquarters, others saying they should barricade the gate. Members of the Garrison rushed in to implement damage control.

The tiny, one-room apartment was not far from the bakery. The building resided on a side alley near the market, a string of identical apartments neighboring her own. “Which one is it?” Lukas asked, nudging her arm to bring her back to attention.

“Third one down.” Her voice was low and she mumbled her words. “Thanks for walking me home,” she said when they got to her door. She didn’t look at him when he asked if she needed anything, she merely responded in the negative before going inside and shutting the door behind her.

She did not leave her home for five days following, never once changing from her work clothes, lying in bed but never falling asleep. The temperature in her apartment grew to unbearable heights from the record breaking humidity that overtook the district. Thick droplets of condensation collected at her windows, just like they had on that day which now seemed so long ago. Her eyes burned, red and dry, stuck staring at the droplets that trailed down to the bottom of the frame for hours until they nearly forgot how to blink. She drank only when the act of swallowing felt like ripping thick tape off her throat wall, and ate, rather reluctantly, when her employees came by to deliver the day’s leftovers, and she only did this because they refused to leave otherwise.

Her mourning was a silent one. Never before had she lost someone so becoming in her life, someone she was so sure would return home, so suddenly, so violently. Emilia had lost one other person before, but that was different. She knew he wouldn't make it home. She shuddered, desperate to keep her mind blank and thus completely negligent of titans and the soldiers who died by their hands. At the very least, she had spent every hour forcing herself not to think those words that felt so taboo. Despite this, her body went through the grieving motions. She vomited in the middle of the night, she would drift off to sleep only to jerk awake not twenty minutes later, she forgot to eat, and her body shifted from hot flashes to cold sweats more often than she knew was normal. She didn’t care.

It wasn’t until that fifth day when her body began to break down and ceased to defend her mind from what was really going on.

“Petra's… dead.”

Her first thought was not, "how?" or, “did she suffer?” or even, “is her body still intact somewhere? Does some part of her still exist in this world?” No. It was, “did she get the chance to tell him?”

It was a less concerning thought, all things considered, but a consuming one. Emilia sat on the floor under the window pane, listening to the rapid patter of the rain storm that had finally broken the humidity, and when she decided that, “no, she most likely did not get the chance,” all the other questions came flooding in afterwards until one was finally landed upon:

“Did she have regrets?” She said this out loud to herself, though she didn’t remember willing her lips to move. The question echoed and swelled in her head until they ceased to sound like real words.

There was no clear-cut answer.

And finally, _finally_ , Emilia sobbed. Uncontrollably, violently, breathlessly, until her chest felt hollow and her cheeks began to sting. She sat there for a good while, empty. No, empty was too fulfilling a word, one that hinted at loss; it implied that she had once been filled with something she stood to lose. She had long ago smothered the fluttering in her chest, the thrill that jolted through each nerve ending whenever Petra was nearby. When her only friend entered the military, Emilia knew that such feelings were pointless, doomed to result in nothing less than disappointment. Childhood crushes were not meant to linger, after all. And Petra was just that -- a fond childhood memory, an old friend, one that she had hoped to reconnect with. But at the end of the day, Petra was not hers, only a confusing jumble of “what ifs” and “might have beens.” Emilia understood this all too well.

Rather, what she felt was _nothing_. Or so she thought.

The break in her heart at the thought of reducing Petra as merely a blank void in her life was nearly palpable, like forcibly tearing out stitches with a rusty iron nail. She felt the disgust rising up her throat like bile, the fear of leaving Petra behind all the more real.

It was then she knew that she did feel something. She had always felt something.

So she allowed herself to feel it. All of it.

 

~

 

That evening, she showered for the first time in five days and put on a new change of clothes. The bakery was likely closed by that point -- Emilia was the only one whose schedule was flexible enough to do night shifts on weekends.

Sure enough, it was dark inside by the time she arrived. The sun had not yet dipped out completely beyond the horizon, but the sky was shifting from brilliant pinks and oranges to a deep plum. There were no more children outside playing in the streets, they were likely home for dinner with their families by that point, and the neighboring shops had already closed down. The silence was alive that night, a gaping void to get lost in.

And there, in the middle of that silence, sitting on the bakery's front step in dark pants and a black jacket, was Captain Levi.

He didn't look up as Emilia sat next to him, though she noticed how his shoulders relaxed a little at her approach.

“Hey.” Her voice was raw, scratched up from lack of use.

“You sound sick,” he said.

“I'm not.”

“That's pretty pathetic.”

“You're the one sitting on my doorstep in the dark,” she said, nudging his shoulder with her own.

“I guess.”

After a minute had gone by, Emilia rose from the step and took out her key, unlocking the front door. “You want some tea?”

“Tch. Thought you'd never open that damn door.”

She brewed a large pot of black tea and sat across from him at his usual spot. “You know,” she started in between sips, “I don't think we've ever been formally introduced.”

“You're Emilia. And I know you know who I am, so.”

“Didn't think you knew my name. Is the tea really _that_ good?”

“Petra talked about you sometimes,” he said, the wrinkles under his eyes suddenly more pronounced. Something twisted in her gut.

“Yeah. She talks about you, too.”

“Thanks for the swirly things, by the way. The squad really liked them.”

_Petra. Did you ever get the chance to tell him?_

“I didn't make them,” she responded with a straight face. “Petra did. She made them for you.” _Maybe he’ll know what I’m trying to say. What she probably didn’t get to say._

“Like hell she did.”

“Huh?”

“Petra was good at making stews, sure, but her baking was as good as shit.”

“It's a learned skill. Maybe she practiced and--”

“Stone. Cold. Shit.”

“You seem to have first-hand experience in shit-tasting.”

“Besides,” he said, ignoring her comment, “her face lit up like a kid's when she tried one. Almost didn't share until the others got on her case.”

“Oh... I see.”

“You must have really loved her,” he said plainly, picking up his tea cup by the rim and taking a sip.

“Wha- What do you mean by that? She was just an old friend, not--”

“Cut the crap. It's all over your face.”

Was she really that readable?

“Not only that,” he continued, “but those things tasted like something you'd make for a loved one, not a random group of soldiers. I can tell.”

Emilia nodded. A lie. Opening her mouth might urge on the tears blooming behind her eyes. She didn't want to cry, not in front of him.

“She knew, deep down, I think. You were important to her.”

“Can we… not talk about her in the past tense?” She knew it was a childish thing to say, an unreasonable request, but the words poked holes through her heart that she wasn’t able to stitch together. She expected him to call her foolish, maybe even selfish. But he didn’t.

“Is this… your first time losing someone?”

She nodded - another lie - the tears creeping past her eyelids in thick droplets.  

“I see.” He didn’t speak again for a few minutes, the only sound coming from him pouring himself more tea. After he drank his second cup, he looked back at her. “It doesn’t get easier…but you learn to live around it.”

“Oh, um. Thanks.”

“Yeah.”

They fell into a comfortable silence until the tea was almost completely gone. “How about I brew us another pot?”

“Not a bad idea,” he said in a voice that sounded almost like a smile, even though there was none showing on his face.

Emilia got up and began gathering the pot and cups on the tray.

“Oi.”

“Hmm?”

“You wouldn't happen to have any more of those swirly things, would you?” Levi looked at his hands, the table, anywhere but at her, and in that moment Emilia felt that perhaps Petra's feelings did not go unrequited.

She smiled at him, a warm and genuine smile that felt foreign on her face after going days without. “Why don't you come back to the kitchen with me? I'll show you how to make them over another pot of tea.”

“Wha- … Actually… I’d like that.”


	6. Don't Give Me That Look, I'm Just Asking For A Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Words are easy, like the wind; Faithful friends are hard to find.”   
> ― William Shakespeare

“I have a couple of friendly questions for you,” the customer in the Survey Corps uniform said, leaning over the counter with a familiar ease. Had the questions been genuinely friendly in nature, they wouldn't be prefaced as such, so Emilia was quick to grow suspicious.

“How may I be of friendly assistance?”

“You see, I happen to know that a certain military captain passes through here on a rather methodical basis,” they said, pushing their glasses up the bridge of their nose. “I'm curious as to what he does in here.”

Distant professionalism was always the route to take when confronted with questions like these. Luckily, Emilia already had a script prepared. “I'm afraid I cannot reveal personal information regarding clientele unless they've come under scrutiny of the law. Is this so?”

“That’s a common rule in large businesses, not small eateries.”

“Chalk it up to personal values and high hopes.”

“HA! Figures Levi would stick around someone as tight-lipped as you,” they said, tone shifting from threatening to playful so fast that it gave the baker whiplash. “No, no, Levi’s not in any trouble, I’m merely a curious friend of his. Name’s Hanji.”  

“Oh, I see. I’m-”

“Emilia Becker, twenty-six years old, resident of Wall Rose since birth, university drop-out, baker for six years, two living parents, no grandparents, and one nephew to speak of. Am I right?”

This took Emilia aback. She was not necessarily a private person, with nothing to hide from anyone, however it was still off-putting when a stranger from the military came in and listed a line of facts regarding her personal life. “... Yes. You've certainly done your homework.”

“Ah, sorry, sorry. I like knowing a thing or two about my friends before I make them. Do you guys sell sweet breads, by the way? With nuts in them?” _So now we're friends?_ This person was unlike any other patron she had ever encountered, but surely if they knew Levi they meant well? They were a member of the Survey Corps, after all..

“Yes, we do. Honey or banana?”

 

~

 

Lukas and Esther were on duty, insisting that Emilia take a break when Hanji approached them and asked, “Is it okay if I borrow your boss for a little?”

So there they were. The two of them sat at the back table usually occupied by a rather ill-tempered captain. It wasn’t often Emilia sat out front during daylight hours, so she took extra notice how the sunlight streaming in through the windows highlighted the decor of the establishment. The space was intimate, accentuated by the warm color scheme. There were six round oak tables, which were far enough apart from each other to not feel imposing, but close enough for the scent of the other customers’ orders to travel easily. Three tables were placed on each side of the room, perfectly symmetrical, with a row of space leading up to the counter separating them. Each one had a plush crimson cushion tied down to their four respective chairs, and a candle in the center of each tabletop. The walls were painted an auburn red and the wooden floors were polished frequently, giving the place a warm, but clean, atmosphere.

“You must think it’s strange for me to show up like this with all these questions. I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I promise. I am just worried about my friend,” Hanji said, tone steady and kind. While intentionally reassuring, the genuine nature was still present. A plate piled high with slices of sweet breads separated the two on the table.  

“I understand. It can’t be easy making sure your comrades are healing from loss while also recovering yourself. I don’t blame you for keeping tabs on your friends.” She pushed the plate more towards her guest. “But I must say, all he does when he comes through here is drink his weight in tea and scribble away at his paperwork.”

“I see.” Hanji reached for a piece of banana bread, taking a huge bite before continuing. “If something different happens, will you write me? Will you let me know if he starts acting unusual?”

“Unusual?”    

“Yeah. The truth is, Levi has never been the best at… properly expressing his emotions. A lot has happened recently, I'm worried he might not be handling it as well as he says.” Hanji folded their hands on the table, lightly tapping the surface with the pads of their fingers. “He never told us where he went on Sunday nights, you know? Whenever we asked, he'd just say he was out for a walk, or he'd make up some other excuse. I followed him one day and didn't understand why he kept this such a secret. But he's a weird guy, so I assumed he just needed space; somewhere to go where no one's lives revolve around finding titans, fighting titans, killing titans, being eaten by titans. I can understand that. Ever since his injury, though… his squad… well, I know things haven't been easy on him. And recently he seems more and more anxious to get away, clear his head.”

It was true that Levi's moods seemed to shift during his visits. Where he was tense and snippy upon arrival, he was much more lax by closing time. It was obvious he used his time there as a way to escape from military life for a short while, even the other employees picked up on it. It wasn't uncommon, either. There were a lot of people who came through just to take time to themselves. Some were too young for bars, others swore off alcohol for one reason or another, and then there were a few who simply appreciated tea and cake. Levi seemed to fall under the latter category. Why he didn't go to bars and drink his stress away was a mystery to just about everyone, but Emilia wasn't complaining. Tea lovers were her favorite type of customers.

“I'll write you if anything changes. He's a good man, I’m glad to see he has people like you who care about him.”

“Likewise,” they said, a warm smile spreading across their face.

“So tell me more about the Survey Corps. What division do you work in?” Hanji's face lit up.

“I'm in charge of titan research, as a matter of fact.” Their eyes grew wider, expectant.

“Is that so? That sounds rather exciting. What have you learned of their nature, if you don't mind my asking?”

This was the wrong thing to say.

Two hours later, Emilia was still listening to Hanji listing off every theory, experiment, and discovery they made of titans. They wouldn't get too specific as to how these experiments were being conducted, but apparently they had easy access due to the Corps capturing titans alive for research purposes. There were rumors that a titan had appeared behind Wall Sina, but she wasn't sure how appropriate it was to ask Hanji to confirm or deny the stories. Regardless, she doubted the military was even allowed to talk about what happened.

Emilia briefly considered making a hard cider and offering it to her companion to see how many glasses it would take to get answers. Hanji seemed to be no stranger to a well-deserved drink.

_No, no. If they start drinking, who knows how much more of this rant I'll have to listen to._

The door to the bakery slammed open, and a visibly angry Levi stormed through.

“Oi, shitty four-eyes, what the hell are you doing?” He was scowling at Hanji, arms folded.

“Ah, Levi! Just catching up with an old friend!” Emilia rolled her eyes, which did not go unnoticed by the captain. “What are you doing here? I didn't know you came to this bakery!”

One look at Levi's face expressed that he knew this was just a lazier-than-average lie.

Instead of saying that, he simply grunted in a way that held a strong resemblance to a growl and continued to glare. The stare-down between the two made Emilia uneasy, so she naturally went with the first thought that popped into her head to break the tension:

“Banana bread?” She extended the plate to Levi, shrinking a little in her seat while doing so. “It has walnuts.”

“Tch.”

He took a slice anyway.

“Hanji, Erwin has been looking for you. Don't run off on your stupid detective work when you have _actual_ work to do.”

“Sorry, Levi, but you're the one who stopped listening to the results of my research! I had to branch out and find a fresh set of ears,” they winked at him as they said this. When Hanji stood, getting ready to leave, Emilia noted how the researcher was almost half a head taller than the captain. It was a challenge not to laugh. “Well, I should be off. Nice talking with you, Emilia! I'll be back soon!”

“No you won't,” Levi called after them as they walked out. “Sorry about that.” He turned and took Hanji’s seat. “I trust Hanji bored you to death with titan talk?”

“I mean, I definitely learned a lot. Titans apparently don't… produce waste-”

“Shit. The word you're looking for is _shit_. They don't _shit_.”

“Thank you for that clarification,” she chuckled, then paused. She had a question she wanted to ask, but wasn't sure how it would be received.

“Out with it,” he demanded. His readings of her facial expressions grew more and more potent with each meeting.

“Your friend.. Hanji..”

“Yeah?”

“Is Hanji a… a mister? Or a ma'am? Or..?”

“A shithead. Hanji is a shithead,” he stated flatly, taking a bite of bread. “Again, the word you're looking for is _shit_.”


	7. Sow Seeds In Abundance, Bear Fruit With Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”  
> ― Hippocrates

“So let me get this straight: You and your friends just went out and overthrew the government?”

“Yeah.”

“Usurped a fake king?”

“Yeah.”

“Put some teenager from your squad on the throne? Queen Historia? They’re the same person?”

“Yeah.”

“All this in about a week?”

“Yeah.”

“And you’re just telling me this _now?_   How many times have we seen each other since this happened?”

“You never asked.”

“And now, through some nonsensical line of connections you’ve made in that stubborn head of yours, you think you can waltz in here and tell me how to run my business?”

“That’s exactly what I said, you should get your useless ears checked. This place is a shithole and clearly you need someone to teach you how to clean it properly.” He turned his head away from her gaze and stared down at the floor before muttering, “though I doubt you’ll ever actually learn.”

“Cool, just making sure we’re on the same page.” Emilia pinched the bridge of her nose and slid a plate over towards the opposite side of the table. “Geez, you talk so much. Just eat your cake.”

“I’m not eating that.”

Emilia couldn’t remember the last time they spoke when he _didn’t_ go out of his way to give her a headache.

It was hard for any _normal_ person to resist the temptation of a quality piece of chocolate cake, but Levi made it clear he was prepared to die trying.

“Just shove it, you don’t eat enough. You can’t just drink tea all day.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“It looks like shit.”

This was where the interpretive lines blurred. Levi was a talkative man, not quite to the extent as Hanji, but once he started ranting about something, it was surprisingly challenging to shut him up. However, certain words in his vast lexicon held twice, or sometimes even three times the weight in comparison to others. “Shit” was one of these words.

To break it down simply, there were two categories in which the word’s meaning fell. The first was obvious: excrement. Plain and simple.

The second was a bit more complicated, there were many ways to interpret his intended definition based on context clues. It was an adjective or noun he used in a negative context, but to Emilia's knowledge, he only used it towards people he did not otherwise have negative feelings for. When he was upset, Hanji was referred to as “shitty four-eyes,” Commander Erwin Smith was a “colossal piece of shit,” his new squad was comprised of “stupid shitty brats,” and so on and so forth. Even Emilia was a “shithead baker” from time to time, a title used whenever she tried to test out her new recipes on him (and withheld his precious tea when he refused to participate).

So him saying the cake looked “like shit” didn't mean that he thought it visibly resembled feces, but rather he wasn't hungry and didn't want her to push the subject past the point of annoyance, which she was often prone to do. Likewise, him calling the bakery a “shithole” did not mean that he thought it as such, but rather it was a justification for him to take more control over a place he most obviously, yet so reluctantly, held an emotional attachment for.  

Levi’s unique vernacular presented a wide variety of puzzles that Emilia found enjoyment in decoding. For instance, she noticed that other words held double or triple meaning as well.

“Pig” was one such word. A pig was, primarily, anyone in the Military Police that he didn't like. So basically all of them. The secondary definition was any greedy person who happened to be wealthy. The third was any greedy person who was not wealthy (though they were often labelled as “worthless pigs”). The fourth was any man who sexually harassed a woman through verbal means. This particular usage was always accompanied with the prefix “filthy.” However, a pig was _not_ a man who _assaulted_ a woman, which was a different word entirely, and a far more vulgar one at that. And the fifth definition was a literal pig.

Another common word was “brat.” Unlike the others, this word had only one meaning: it was a term of endearment. Nothing more, nothing less.

Levi's linguistic consolidation skills had reached expert levels.

“Will you try some in the morning?”

“Who says I’ll even be here then?”

“Don’t try to act cool, we both know you’ll be back.” She wasn’t wrong.

Levi was a creature of habit, always coming in before sunrise on days when Emilia had the morning shift. He’d knock on the front door before the bakery was even open, while she was just starting to prepare for the morning rush. He claimed that he only slept two or three hours at a time and was bored waiting around for everyone else in “the whole damn Corps” to wake up. It was methodical - he’d show up not long after she did  and would repeat the same thing over and over: “I’m going to clean in exchange for tea from now on. Besides, you’re a shit cleaner anyway, and you need all the help you can get, so you’re in no position to refuse.” He’d then follow up by saying, “Really, I feel sorry for you.” After the first few times, Emilia gave into pressure and bequeathed him a spare key to the building, which led to him already being there, cleaning and drinking tea, by the time she arrived.

He also came in late when she had the night shift, right before closing. He would march in, make a beeline behind the counter, grab the pile of cleaning supplies he had stowed in the bottom corner that no one, _no one_ , was allowed to touch, and scrub vehemently away at the tables and floors. The scrapes and bruises slowly healing on his knuckles were noticeable enough that Emilia knew not to ask of their origins. He always appeared distant as he cleaned, his eyes fogging over as though they were focused on something far beyond the confines of Wall Rose.

Emilia never asked about his injuries, and Levi never brought them up, but their silence on the matter hung between them like a noose in an execution chamber.

By then, Emilia was quick to pick up on his speech patterns and knew for certain that he came because, for whatever reason, he didn’t want to be alone.

Really, she felt sorry for him.

“Tch.” This meant that she was right, but he wasn’t going to admit it. It was almost closing time, and Levi already cleaned more than half of the tables - both the surface, and underneath. “I have a question for you.”

“Oh?”

“Do you like large rooms filled with noisy kids?” This was not a question she expected anyone to ever ask her.

“… Why?”

“Just answer the damn question.”

“I’ve never experienced being in such a room, but I do like both large rooms and the vague notion of children.”

“I see.” He turned back to cleaning tables, back to his distant thoughts.

“Okay, wait a minute, don’t just go back to spacing out like that. _You_ need to answer _my_ question now. Why are you asking?”

He took a moment before answering, a thoughtful expression crossing his features, as though he were choosing his words carefully. “The Queen and I have established an orphanage, mostly for kids from the Underground.” She did not expect him to say that, that was for sure. Her mouth gaped open for a split second before responding.

“That’s really amazing, Levi. But.. what does that have to do with me?”

“Oi, put two and two together. They could use someone to bake them warm shit once in a while. Ingredients would come out of the government’s budget, plus they’d pay you, so.. Figured I’d ask. Not like you have a reason to say no.”

“Oh. Wow, _wow_ , yeah. I mean, I’d love to go over and bake something for the kids. I- I didn’t realize you were a kid-friendly person..”

“Tch, what a backhanded compliment. Just say yes and shut up.”

“Yes and shut up.”

Levi’s angry scowls ceased to be frightening and instead grew to be more and more endearing to Emilia. By the time they finished closing up, they had moved on to other, more lighthearted topics.

“By the way, do you have a gun anywhere in the building?”

“Umm… no?”

“Get one and keep it behind the counter,” his eyes narrowed and his tone took a noticeably strict turn before adding, “that's an order.”

“Sure? But I don't even know where to buy a gun..”

He tsked and mumbled about getting one himself because she would inevitably pick out a “useless gun that only shoots out giant-ass sprinkles.” On their way out for the night, she handed him a box of leftover pastries at the door, as she usually did.

“Don’t eat breakfast tomorrow. I’m making a quiche.”

“What the hell is a quiche.” Most of his questions weren't even real questions, they were just demands he didn't know the meaning of yet. After a certain point in their friendship, they dropped the petty formalities around one another, and this was the most amusing aspect of Levi’s unconventional communication skills.  

“It's like a pie, but it's not sweet. Made of eggs and meat and vegetables. It's in a buttery crust and everything.”

“That sounds disgusting. Why are you wasting expensive foods on an egg pie.”

“You say that about everything you’ve never tried before, and then you always end up liking it. Just try the quiche, it’s a special occasion. Please?” She clasped her hands together and made a begging pose he was utterly _not_ fond of, but never said no to.

“Fine, but only if you stop acting like some kind of pig.”

 

~

 

The following morning, Emilia woke up earlier than usual. She was exhausted from losing a few hours sleep, but getting to the bakery before Levi was non-negotiable. After showering and forcing herself to skip breakfast, she ran out the door towards her shop.

When the fruits of her early rising paid off and Levi was nowhere in sight, she immediately began working on the crust. The beautiful thing about crust was how generous it could be in the butter to flour ratio, specifically with the butter half. She mixed the ingredients together in between her fingers until it was crumbly enough to pat down along the bottom and sides of the pie tin. Once that was done, she washed her hands and set the kettle on for tea. If her estimation was correct then Levi should arrive at any moment, which came just as Emilia was whisking a dozen eggs together. “Oi, I got you something.”

That something was a rifle that was ever so casually tucked under his left arm.

“Are you finally going to kill me off? Take all the tea leaves for yourself, maybe? Doesn’t surprise me, but you’re not even going to have breakfast first?” She loved joking with him. He never laughed, she wasn't sure he knew how to, but he did spawn all kinds of unhappy wrinkles across his forehead whenever she said _anything_ in a playful tone. This, she thought, was an even better reaction.  

“Shut up, you shithead, you need this. Do you have any idea how vulnerable you dumbasses are when you’re here by yourselves? What if Esther is working all by herself and the place gets robbed? Or what if you're here without me and some psycho comes in and tries to kill you? What then?” He narrowed his eyes at her and moved out towards the counter. She watched as he knelt down and concealed the gun just under the register, his small frame suddenly appearing much larger than it had a moment ago.  

“I guess you’re right.” His shoulders stiffened when she said this, possibly because she didn’t usually give in to his paranoid demands so quickly.

“I know I am. I’ll teach you how to use that later. For now, I’m going to brew the tea, the water’s about to boil,” he nodded towards the kettle on the stove.

While he made tea, Emilia worked on breakfast. She stirred in heavy cream, chopped up onions, diced red peppers, bits of broccoli, a dash of salt, and layers upon layers of cheese. The final ingredient was the bacon, which still had to be cooked fully before she could add it into the mixture. She set a cast iron skillet on the stove and drizzled olive oil in to coat the bottom. She waited until the oil was steaming before placing thick strips of fatty bacon down in the pan, stopping for a moment to inhale that intoxicating scent and to listen to the crackling sounds that rose up once the meat and iron made contact.  

Once the bacon was cooked and cut into smaller pieces, she added them, along with the leftover fat in the pan, to the egg mixture, and then poured the mixture into the crust. The quiche went into the oven and the timer was set for an hour, which gave her just enough time to make something special for after breakfast.

“I think you’re going to like this quiche,” she called out to the front room where Levi was on the hunt for dust. “And I think you’ll have an easier time finding your precious dirt once the sun rises.”

“I don’t understand how a place can get so dirty overnight, I just cleaned this shit. It must be you and your shitty personality causing all this.”

“Must be. Wait until you see the tasting room.” She said this in a tone that suggested she was letting him down easy after a tragedy, knowing full well that he would probably freak out over the existence of a room he had never seen before, and therefore had never cleaned. It didn’t get used often, so she kept it locked at all times since customers’ personal information and orders were kept in a folder on the shelf. He might have just assumed it was a storage room and never questioned it, but now they had an hour to kill before the quiche came out of the oven, so he needed something to do.

“The what now.” He was in the kitchen so fast, cleaning supplies in hand, standing so close to her that her arm brushed against his chest. It would have been cute if he wasn’t glaring at her like she was the mother of all dirt.

“The tasting room. It’s that door over there,” she pointed. “I unlocked it before you got here, so knock yourself out.”

Oh, he did. Levi bolted into the tasting room before she even finished her sentence, and he went so far as to shut the door behind him. What he was doing in there was a mystery, but Emilia imagined that the room would look completely different by the time he was through with it.

With him out of the way, Emilia laid out her favorite ingredients of all time: dark chocolate, butter, eggs, heavy cream, confectioners’ sugar, and a jar of homemade raspberry jam. These, the baker thought, were truly the only foods necessary for human survival. She began by whisking sixteen eggs together. Normally, she would only need eight, but today was a special occasion, so a double-batch was easily justifiable. Once the eggs had a foamy layer on the surface, she melted the butter and half the chocolate in a separate bowl, while the other half was melted with cream, and stirred until they reached a smooth consistency. The chocolate-cream mixture was set aside, and the butter mixture was slowly poured into the eggs. She folded the two together, scraping the bowl from top to bottom, until there were no more streaks of yellow. The batter was transferred into two round cake pans and immediately went into the oven for forty minutes. Now, both the quiche and the cake would be ready at the same time. Easy peasy.

While waiting on their breakfast to cook, Emilia began making bread dough for the morning rush. As she worked, she could hear furniture being moved around in the tasting room, books falling over, curses being muttered not quite under the breath. Rolling her eyes, she debated whether or not it was worth it to check in on him. On the one hand, it would be nice to quell the curiosity. What the heck could he have been doing to make that much noise? On the other, he would definitely lecture her on dust bunnies, or whatever it was he always went off about, should she open that door.  

_Eh, what the heck. I’ll get the lecture over with now._

One of the room’s couches was moved right in front of the door, acting as an obnoxious barricade. “Hey, let me in. What the heck are you doing in there?” She heard shuffling as the couch slid across the carpet. Levi stood in the doorway, head hung low, the binder with cataloged orders in hand. “Is something wrong?”

He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it once more. “Eld was here?”

“Eld Jinn?” His name was on the list of fallen soldiers from the expedition when Petra… she pushed the thought back. “Y-yeah. Yes. He was going to come in to taste test wedding cakes before… well. Yeah. Was he a friend of yours?” All of a sudden, Emilia had no idea what to do with her arms, where to put her hands, what her eyes should have been focusing on. She felt the blood rush to her face, growing uncomfortably warm within seconds.

“He was on my squad,” he said, not looking up at her. “Him, Petra, Gunther, Oruo… my entire… they all… Tch.” The dark circles under his eyes stood out in stark contrast to the sudden paleness of his skin, a legion of wrinkles and stress lines etched onto the surface layer.       

“I’m so sorry, Levi. I had no idea.” She wondered if she should put her arm around him, if he was the type of man who took comfort in small amounts of physical affection. He didn’t seem like a touchy-feely type of person, and always exemplified his desire for personal space through body language alone, but did he make exceptions for condolences such as this? They were friends, rather good friends at that, but this was new territory.

_Maybe if I just…_

She reached out and gently placed a hand on his right shoulder, making small, circular motions with her thumb. He didn’t back away from her touch, but rather leaned ever so slightly into it by shifting his weight from left foot to right.    

“Do you.. do you want to talk about it? I'm here for you, you know, if you want someone to listen.”

He nodded his head no, turning back into the little room to sit on the couch. The binder sat balanced on his crossed leg, its inked pages staining every inch of space between them. Emilia stepped through the threshold and sat down close enough to him that their thighs touched, an unexpected warmth blooming at the point of contact. Her face grew warm as she quickly shifted her position, tilting her body just enough to face him.

“Levi..”

“It’s fine, I’m fine. I-”

“You don’t have to be, though,” she blurted out.

“Huh?”  

She really dug herself into a hole with this one. Emotions were not her forte, it was far more preferable to gloss over everything with sarcasm than to actually confront, well, anything. Being a listening ear was manageable. Sympathizing with others through facial expressions and vague comments was a learned skill, one that she had practiced with diligence. But this was different. This time, she had to offer more of herself than just an understanding, “It wasn’t your fault, don’t worry about it,” or, “I get where you’re coming from, and I’m here to listen.” Out of respect for someone who had become such an integral part of her life in so short a time, she felt she owed it to Levi to meet him in the same vulnerable state he had allowed her to see.

Because Levi, incidentally, was a lot like her, and, to make matters worse, they were both mourning the loss of the same woman. Ironic, really. Losing Petra, she knew, was the true foundation of their friendship, and she was more than aware that it would have to be addressed sooner rather than later.  

“What I mean is… You don’t need to pretend everything’s fine when it’s not.. Ugh, wow, I don’t really know how to say this…. Umm, I think that you and I might have more in common than we realize? I know what it feels like to blame yourself… But.. I _know_ I can never understand what you’re feeling or what you’ve been through. I’m not a soldier, I’ve never seen a titan, so I can never relate to that part of your life, I get that. But.. ummm.. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I.. I want to help you. N-not that you need help or anything! I know you’re strong, but… uh, _shit_.” She pressed her fingers to her temples and squeezed her eyes shut. Unintelligible ranting was more than just embarrassing, it was a source of sheer anxiety.  

“Pffffft.”

What.

Why was his face contorted like that? Why were his lips turned upwards? Why was his breathing uneven?

“Hey, Levi, you look weird, what's with that expression? … Oi, I think your face is broken, what's wrong?”

He wasn't… no… was he?

“Are you.. are you laughing? Is this what you think a laugh looks like? … That's what this is, isn't it? What the... You little _shit_..”

“PFFFFFFFT.”

“WHAT?”

“I've…” He took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I've never heard you say ‘shit’ before…”

“What the--”

“It sounds so _stupid_ when _you_ say it, heh...” He dug his face into his hands, though it didn’t go unnoticed how forcefully he rubbed his palms into his eyes.  

“Wow. WOW. You have such a way with words, Levi, I'm surprised women don't throw themselves at your feet every time you step outside.”

“No, they just force me to eat pies made out of eggs at ungodly hours,” he grumbled, lifting his blotchy red face, then paused. “I got what you were trying to say. Thank you, Emilia,” he said, returning the gesture by placing his hand on her shoulder.

 _So I was right_ , she thought. _He really is a lot like me_.

 

~

 

Levi had already cleaned and rearranged the tasting room when the oven timer went off, so when it came time to frost the cake, and allow the quiche a few minutes to cool, he had nothing left to do.

“What’s in the jar.” Again, not a question. Just a demand to know.

“Raspberry jam.”

“There are seeds in it, that’s disgusting.”

“They’re supposed to be there. You can’t taste them, so just relax.”

“What are you going to do with it.”

“Spread it between the two layers. Also over the top. Chocolate and raspberry is, in my opinion, the best combination out there, trust me.”

“Disgusting. What’s the liquidy shit in that bowl,” he pointed to a bowl next to the jar, which were both sitting just above the two cake pans and a large wire rack.

“Ganache.”

“What.”

“Melted chocolate and heavy cream. Used for frosting.”

“Why can’t you just say that, why do you need a separate word.”

“To confuse short, angry men.”

“Tch.”

Their banter eased her anxiety from their previous discussion, lulling her back into a calmer state. With the two cakes separated from their respective pans, she took a knife and leveled them - not that they needed it, per se, since flourless desserts did not rise, but they were not as even as her perfectionist self would have liked. Next, she spread a generous amount of jam across each layer, then stacked them one on top of the other. She poured the chocolate ganache over the cake and spread it around on all sides until it was smooth and completely covered. Finally, she sprinkled the top with a light dusting of confectioners’ sugar before setting her masterpiece aside.

“Perfect!”

“It’s so short.”

“Because there’s no flour in it.”

“Why didn’t you make a bigger cake.”

“I wanted it to look like you.”

“TCH.”

“Oh, hush. Time for quiche,” she chuckled, thinking better than to pat him on the head, despite how much she wanted to.

Together they brought out two plates and sets of utensils, along with a new pot of tea. This time, to keep in theme of things Levi had never tried before, Emilia brewed green tea infused with jasmine. Levi, being the habitual man he was, muttered something under his breath about “shitty bakers making shitty power moves.”

He wasn’t wrong about that. She liked making the big bad captain eat her food, especially if it was something he never had before. When he didn’t like something, his face would twist as though he just bit into a rotten lemon. But when he did like something, his eyes lit up, a shade of blue that could compete toe-to-toe with the pale morning sky, and he always looked surprised, as though he was expecting the worst.

It was merely an added bonus that his presence caused Emilia to forget what it felt like to eat every meal alone, night after night, day after day.

“Ah,” he said, eyes widening to reveal a brighter shade of blue. “This tea isn’t half bad.”

“I thought you might like it. Here, try this.” She cut a slice of the quiche and lifted it from pan to plate, steam rising up fogging her glasses. He blew on his forkful before taking a bite, but when he did, he chewed in silence. “Well?”

“Shut up.”

“You like it, don’t you?”

“No,” he said as he shoveled down bite after bite.

“Yes you do, don’t lie to me.” She lifted the remainder of the quiche off the table, moving to bring it back into the kitchen, and watched as his eyes darted after it. His glare shifted from the pan in her hands to her face.  

“Put that back or I’ll cut you in half.”  

“Yes, sir.” She placed the tin back on the table and gave him an awkward salute, grinning from ear to ear. Emilia felt happiest when the people she cared for ate and enjoyed the things she cooked, with the belief that food served as a bond between people rooted deep in her heart. That Levi liked the quiche was an accomplishment she would always remember. That he also liked the “shitty” cake was a feeling she could only describe as magical.

“So you really like it? You mean that?”

“Yeah, yeah, stop harping up my ass about it. I like it.” He sat back in his chair, arms folded across his chest after just having finished his second piece of the fudge-like cake. “Happy? I ate enough to spend the rest of my day holed up in the bathroom.”

“I am. Thank you, Levi. It really means a lot to me,” she smiled, placing a hand on his forearm before beginning to clear the plates away. The sun was just starting to break along the horizon, casting the sky in a rich variety of hues ranging from pink to red to violet, a base shade of royal blue rising from beneath. 

“Tch, the things I do for you,” he said, following her gaze out the window. “But it is a special occasion, after all. Happy birthday, Emilia.”  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Delicious quiche recipe [here](http://www.thekurtzcorner.com/2014/05/cheesy-bacon-spinach-quiche.html) if you're interested! :)
> 
> Also, the chocolate cake was inspired by [this recipe right here!](https://www.gimmesomeoven.com/peanut-butter-flourless-chocolate-cake/)


	8. Love and Loss: An Endless Cycle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “My tongue will tell the anger of my heart, or else my heart concealing it will break.”   
> ― William Shakespeare

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> regular updates? who is she, i don't know her. 
> 
>  
> 
> SORRY FOR THE HUGE DELAY OMG. Here's a chapter of Emilia facing some hard facts and owning up to her feelings to make up for months of nothinggggg

On the morning of her scheduled day off, the leaves began to noticeably shift from green to a kaleidoscope of yellows, oranges, and reds. Emilia sat on her couch in her nightgown, not yet having the energy to change, with a cup of black tea in hand. Thinking.

She had to go to the flower shop early, before they ran out of cornflowers, which was not an uncommon errand for civilians during this time of year. Emilia, much like many other men and women who chose not to enlist in the military, who were healthy and held stable jobs at the time of the fall of Wall Maria, nurtured a certain resentment towards this day. A bitterness that could not be quelled.

After all, today was the day, a lifetime ago, when nearly twenty percent of the human population, all of whom being untrained and lower class civilians, were forcibly sent out to “reclaim the Wall.”

Emilia’s older brother was one such victim.

Isaac would not have preferred the word “victim,” he had been much too proud for such a label. But that was what he was in her eyes, along with the eyes of everyone left behind: those stranded in the confusion and betrayal that arose in the remaining absence.

Emilia sipped at her tea. It was too early for the florist to be at her post, so there was time, but still she rose from her seat and shuffled back into her bedroom. An abundance of silence fused with pent-up potential energy did nothing for her peace of mind. Inside the old wooden wardrobe hung an array of similar looking white shirts, long brown skirts, and many pairs of black pants. She wasn’t one for extravagance, simple clothing suited her just fine. After dressing, she opted against breakfast and set out towards the flower shop. If she took the longer route, she would be there by the time they opened, and the dawn was lovely this time of year, so she didn’t mind too much.

The neighborhood consisted of a stillness akin to an empty sanctuary, the wind a silent prayer brushing against her ears. There was something distinctly spiritual about the mornings behind Wall Rose, when the sun hadn't fully risen and the sky was still casted in pastel pinks, purples, and the faintest hint of blue. If she hadn't known any better, Emilia would think that a sky like that could have never blanketed over the world beyond the Walls, that humans and titans could not have possibly shared the same clouds, same stars, same sun and moon. She liked to think that somewhere, far off, there was another sky that her brother and Petra and every other victim of the titans found refuge under.

Of course, that was merely wishful thinking.

She rounded a corner down the main road, a pleasant emptiness filling the street. The buildings themselves were all uniform, each with the same base design, but they all had a unique sense of identity to them. Some buildings grew flowers and vines up along the smooth walls, others proudly hung flags of whichever military branch they affiliated themselves with, while a few had colorful signs and posts to advertise businesses. Cats glared at passersby from high windows with a fierceness that could almost rival Levi. Almost.

Thinking about Levi was troublesome recently, even on a good day, but especially today. She knew he wasn’t yet a member of the Survey Corps when her brother had been sent out to die, and she knew that the Corps wasn’t on board with the expedition to begin with. Towards them, she held no ill will, but the connection was still there. She felt a pang of guilt for not being able to fully shake it. She sighed and looked up, not a single cloud in sight. With the moon just barely visible in the sky, the ascending sun held an oddly delicate presence, affectionate even, like it had good reason to mellow out its own radiance.  

Despite the excuses she force-fed herself, Levi was also troublesome for other, much more relevant reasons as of late. Ever since her birthday, Emilia noticed something peculiar in regards to the atmosphere around the tiny captain. And by peculiar, she meant that her heart felt like it was literally trying to ram itself free from her chest whenever he was near, which was problematic on multiple levels. The feeling wasn’t new to her, she had felt it once before, but this was different. Levi was different, and these new emotions towards him came out of left field, barging their way into her heart like a rampaging horse. One day, he was just a friend, a friendly headache, a person she simply felt safe around. The next? Not so much. It terrified her.

 _Perhaps_ there were signs all along, starting from their first real encounter.

 _Perhaps_ her opening up to him, trusting him, letting him into her life was something she should have taken earlier note of.

 _PERHAPS_ the fact that she wasn’t repulsed whenever he touched her was an indicator she should have considered long before this problem arose.

 _MAYBE, MAYBE, MAAAAYBE_ he wasn’t ugly.

But overall there were too many factors working against him, and the cons definitely outweighed the pros.

Firstly, he was high-strung, overwhelmingly so. He didn’t have the calm, comforting, and kind-hearted nature that Emilia was usually drawn to. He was no Petra, that was certain.

Secondly, he was in the Survey Corps, which meant that he had a fifty-percent chance of never returning from beyond the Walls once he stepped foot outside of them. She could not, _would not_ , deal with heartbreak like _that_ again. It would be less painful to get eaten herself, she imagined.

Thirdly, he wasn’t an emotionally expressive person. That wasn’t a bad thing in and of itself, but Emilia was also not the most sensitive where emotions were concerned. Sure, she was leaps and bounds better than he was, but regardless that was a pretty low bar to rise above. Emilia needed balance, she knew that much. Her and Levi were the same side of the same coin, so having feelings for him would result in nothing productive in the long run.

Finally, and most importantly, he was SO FREAKING ANNOYING. If Emilia had to listen to him threaten to strangle her if even a _speck_ of mold grew anywhere in the bakery while he was away ONE MORE TIME, she’d lose her mind.

_No duh, of course I’m not going to let MOLD grow anywhere! It’s MY BUSINESS, YOU JERK._

Levi still didn’t know about Isaac, and Emilia wasn’t keen on telling him. A while back, he had asked her if Petra’s death was the first real loss she had ever experienced. She lied and said yes. How could she tell him that her brother was forced to his death? Forced into going on an expedition that Levi himself risked his life for again and again? How could she tell him that deep within her lived resentment towards the crown, and by extension the Survey Corps? She knew the latter was not at fault, she wasn’t blind, but she could not control how she felt, only how she reacted, and Levi was as finicky as a stray cat with iron claws. He interpreted things in absolutes and, on top of that, he was quick to get defensive. If she brought it up, tension would surely spawn between them, and that was something she wouldn’t allow to happen. Emilia was enjoying their friendship, or whatever it was they had.

She paused to take a breath. Or two. Or seven. Levi had the ability to get under her skin even when he wasn’t around, which was a bad sign.

The cobblestone roads in front of her hemmed and coiled along both short hills and long stretches of flat land, allowing gray shadows and pale sunlight to curve and arch into one another -- an endless waltz against the city's steadily ticking clock tower. Dew droplets grazed her ankles when she passed through soft patches of grass along the edges of the road, birds overhead were beginning their morning routines. It was peaceful: the calm of a newly arisen day, lovingly clashing with the life that had yet to fall asleep.  

“Huh? Oi, aren’t you that baker lady?” A young male voice cut through the silence from behind. She recognized this voice, but couldn’t place it. Emilia turned to see a teenager with brown hair and wide, beautiful eyes, accompanied by a dark haired young woman who was way out of his league, and a blonde boy trailing along at their heels. She recognized them, but didn’t know who they were, which wasn’t uncommon. Working in the food industry had that effect: knowing everyone and no one all at the same time. The Survey Corps’ wings branded on their standard military uniforms did not go unnoticed. The sight of it left her feeling a bit hollow given the day, instead of the pride that accompanied it any other time of year.  

“Eren, don’t be rude,” the young woman said, stern yet motherly.  

“I'm not being rude,” he muttered, pink dusting the surface of his cheeks. He focused back to Emilia. “You are the baker, right? I see you around a lot. And I heard the Captain mention you once to Historia, about the orphanage?”

“ _Queen_ Historia, Eren,” the young woman reprimanded.

“Oi, fine, fine, _Queen_ Historia.”

Emilia couldn't help but chuckle fondly at their sibling-like banter, which reminded her of all the snippy back-and-forths her and Isaac once shared. “You three look very familiar yourselves.”

“We’re around a lot. Captain says your bakery is the only acceptable one, so I don’t think we’re allowed to buy bread anywhere else,” the blond boy piped up hesitantly, his shoulders tensed, like he was afraid of getting slapped.  

“HA! Sounds like something Levi would say.” The boy visibly relaxed and smiled, a warmth spreading across his face that Emilia found infectious. It brought to mind smooth butter layered over a hot biscuit, which in turn reminded her that she stupidly skipped breakfast. “Where are you three off to, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“The florist. We’re picking up an order for Commander Smith,” the loud boy, Eren, said rather animatedly. This took Emilia by surprise, though it shouldn’t have. From what Levi had told her, Commander Smith was a good man, one who understood the need for sacrifice and respected those willing to make it. It should not have come as a shock that he would honor the fallen, especially given the circumstances. But still. Something warm filled her, a sense of calm and pride that she had come to associate with the Survey Corps.

The fact that it also happened to be a similar feeling that stirred whenever she thought of a certain grumpy neat freak was beside the point.

“I see. Well, it seems we’re all headed in the same direction, in that case.”   

The four of them walked the remainder of the way together, making light conversation that was awkwardly forced at times. Emilia was admittedly not the best when it came to social interactions, but the florist was not that far a walk, so she’d find a way to manage. The three of them were entertaining, to say the least, and very much _unlike_ their captain. Though, the young woman, Mikasa, definitely bore glaring similarities. Eren, on the other hand, was like a hurricane: he had all of these passionate, calloused outlooks on the world, yet somehow managed to maintain a certain degree of innocence underneath it all. Meanwhile the young blond boy, Armin, was much, _much_ smarter than Emilia first gave him credit for, and by the time they reached their destination, he had already tricked her into revealing the secret ingredient to one of her most popular desserts. Needless to say, the kid was going to achieve great things one day. They all were.

Their order was ready for them once they all got to the shop, already wrapped and paid for in advance. They left quickly, leaving behind the promise to visit the bakery sometime soon, to which the baker found herself grinning ear to ear. They felt like their own little family and Emilia liked the idea of spending more time around both them and the atmosphere that followed suit. Something about those three reminded her of Isaac, and she couldn’t help but indulge in her own nostalgia.   

Emilia bought a single cornflower and brought it out to the lush fields just outside of town. There was no official grave for her brother; her family didn’t have the money for one at the time, but even if they did, there was no corpse to fill one with. Instead, she had gone to a particular tree in the field that Isaac had liked to climb when he was a child. It had long, twisting branches that curved like a head of especially curly hair, with roots that jutted out from the ground and could easily trip a passerby. A tree like that was hard to miss. After the expedition failed, Emilia had dug a hole near one of the roots and half-buried a decent sized rock with a sharp, pointed tip, like the hand of a compass due north. Plenty others, she knew, had done something similar for their loved ones who did not make it back, be it makeshift gravestones behind houses or by river banks, while some even chose other spots in the field alongside Emilia. All around Wall Rose resided thousands of displaced memorials, small acts of rebellion against the crown.  

When she got to the tree, there was already a bouquet of flowers placed just beneath the moss-covered stone. Her parents, along with Isaac's son, whom they had automatically gained custody over after the fact, must have already stopped by to pay their respects. They liked coming the day before when there was less of a gloom hanging over the city, less people crowding the florist. Plus they weren't big on waking up at the hours Emilia was used to. She considered the possibility of going to visit them later, but thought better of it. Her parents handled grief best in solitude.

Emilia stayed for a few hours, sitting under the tree with only the wind as a companion, thinking back to all those years ago, back before her brother got married, before his wife bore a child and died directly after, before he lost his job and refused aid from his aging parents or little sister, back to when he was just a boy who wanted to know what type of world lied beyond the Walls.

_Was it worth seeing, at the very least? In the end, did the sun shine brighter? Or the grass feel softer? Did the air taste any different?_

_Was it everything you hoped it would be?_

She brought an old copy of Isaac’s favorite book with her, flipping through all his favorite scenes before closing it in favor of talking into her cornflower, recounting everything she could think of that he might have found amusing from this past year. The sun had fully risen in the sky, casting strange shadows under the curling tree branches. It felt wrong to go, to leave her memories of her brother behind while she moved on about her day, but nonetheless she rose from her grassy spot on the ground and began her walk home. There was a dull ache in her chest that grew with every step, but she did not look back.

Emilia decided to stop by the bakery on her way home, something sweet would do wonders for her mood, and she wasn’t entirely ready to face the cold silence of her empty rooms. When she approached the building, a small figure was leaning against the side of the front door, arms crossed and eyes looking somewhere above her head. She didn’t have to go any closer to know it was Levi.

Of course he would show up on the one day when she was trying to avoid him. She neglected to tell him she was taking the day off, it didn’t seem like that big of a deal at the time, but now she was beginning to regret that lapse in judgement. Surely he was going to spout off some lecture about absent mindedness and unreliability and blah blah blah.

Though Emilia couldn't help but be a _little_ happy to see him, troublesome as he might have been.   

“Oi,” she called out as she got within earshot. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes shifted down at her, pushing himself up against the wall. “Tch. What are you? Sick?”

“Ah, no. I took the day off, sorry. I forgot to mention it.” She tried to keep her voice as natural and level as possible, minding Levi’s scrutiny -- the man could sense a lie the way a deer sensed a hidden predator and honestly, it was frightening.

“Oh? I see.” He held her stare, fixing his jaw in place. “My subordinates said they ran into you.”

“Oh.” So he pieced it together.

“It is a particular day, after all.” Levi’s eyes lowered, his fingers picking at the hem of his sleeve.

“It is.” The silence that passed between them was awkward, yet somehow not unnatural. Emilia knew Levi was not in the Survey Corps when Wall Maria fell, or in the time immediately thereafter, so he didn’t have anything to tie him to that expedition, but the weight of guilt settling into his downcast features was palpable. The silence was becoming too much. “You didn’t harass my employees about microscopic dust bunnies again, did you?”

His face lightened a tiny bit at that. “Not today. Maybe tomorrow, though.”

“I’ll look forward to that, heh.”

He closed the gap in between them, only a handful of steps, and suddenly she was tilting her head down a fraction to meet his gaze. “Are you going inside? Those employees of yours are incompetent, you know.”

“Hush, you. They’re fine. I was thinking about going in, but I think I might just head home for the day.”

One eyebrow shot up. “Oh?” he said, like he was being challenged. “I bet you live in filth.”

“My apartment is clean, thank you very much.” She returned the raised eyebrow and placed a hand on one hip.

He lifted his hand up and rested it on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze that felt weird coming from him, but it also set off a spark in her chest that she mentally attempted to stomp out. He only ever touched her when his nerves were acting up. Emilia’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

The hairs on her arms stood on end. She placed one hand over his, which was still on her shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. “Please do.”


	9. Eggs Won't Hatch if the Shell is Cracked, or Didn't You Know?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "All of the things that I want to say just aren't coming out right  
> I'm tripping on words  
> You've got my head spinning  
> I don't know where to go from here  
> 'Cause it's you and me and all of the people with nothing to do  
> Nothing to prove  
> And it's you and me and all of the people  
> And I don't know why, I can't keep my eyes off of you" -Lifehouse, "You and Me"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello it is me again, twice in two months, hi. 
> 
> Okay SO. After last week's MISERABLE episode, I felt inspired to give Levi some serious FLUFF, specifically the domestic kind that he was always meant for (and also some angst because, ya know, the whole edgy Ackerman thing). 
> 
> So here you go, nearly 10k words of fluff and angst and, as Levi would probably put it, "useless garbage."

Emilia melted half a stick of butter in the medium sized pot on the stove, its dissolved form pooling into a puddle that hissed as it slid across the metal base. It warmed the kitchen, made it feel like a home. To be fair, this apartment _was_ her home, but home didn’t truly feel like home until its scent was indistinguishable from a pound of butter, whether it was salted or unsalted didn’t make much of a difference. The scent wrapped itself around her and softened the edges of a long day, a hug she didn’t need to see in order to feel. The aroma of a meal cooked in love was the foundation of a home, or so her father had taught her. This was a principle that Levi, who was standing off to her right and leveling his most intimidating glare on the side of her head, fundamentally disagreed with.

That all of his favorite foods contained a generous amount of butter was a fact he chose to ignore while complaining about the smell.  

The countertop, smooth and devoid of any splinters or knife scratches despite years of constant use, was littered with ingredients - salted butter, both softened and melted, a bowl of cut vegetables, two potatoes, a pound of chicken, a small bag of flour, stock, and cold milk. It wasn’t often meat was available at the market. Animal products weren’t the easiest to come by, save for milk, which was still expensive all things considered. However, during her last trip to the market, following a massive meat delivery, Emilia bought as much chicken, pork, and beef as she could afford and brought the wrapped packages home to store away in her ice box.

Levi would be leaving on a mission to retake Wall Maria in two weeks time, with no idea how long it would take until he would be able to come home. _If_ he could come home, which was a possibility he made a point to remind her of at least once a day. She shivered. Emilia didn’t know what else to do for him, besides ensuring that he ate at least two proper meals a day until he was set to leave. It wasn’t much. It was hardly anything. But it was all she had. Helplessness weighed on her nerves like a pile on stones crushing a twig.

In the meantime, keeping the mood light was a good goal to strive towards. No need to be miserable in the days leading up, for his sake and hers. Whatever happened in the next two weeks would come and pass, but the here and now was worth something. So, with that in mind, they were making a chicken pot pie. Warm and creamy and baked in a flaky golden crust, it was the physical embodiment of comfort. Well, Emilia was doing the cooking. Levi had no idea there was another savory pie waiting for him in the near future. By this point, the baker had a firm grasp on his likes and dislikes: overall, he was not a picky eater, just a picky person. Going out of his way to try new things never, _never_ , made it on his to-do list, so his skepticism directed the majority of his initial thoughts on anything she tried introducing him to. It was a real chore. There were only a select few foods he genuinely didn’t care for - mushrooms, lamb, pickled _anything_ , and, oddly enough, cranberries - so she had no doubt he would like chicken pot pie. But given the fuss he put up over the quiche, it seemed fitting to wait until after the food came out of the oven to clue him in on the dinner menu.

“Oi, Emilia.”

“Hm?”

“I almost forgot. Armin wanted me to ask you about that nut-shit you put in everything.”

“You mean nutmeg?” Not a common spice by any means, and Emilia had accidentally let the ingredient slip to Armin while he was interrogating her about the bakery’s popular autumn cakes. There were only a select few vendors who sell it, for an arm and a leg of course, and they all lived within Wall Sina.

“Yeah.”

“Tell him if he wants it, he’ll have to come over here and fight me for it.” She was pretty sure she could take the blond boy on in a fight. Or at least outrun him. Or… well. Maybe if Armin had a high fever she could… It was a toss up.   

Levi side-eyed her so hard she couldn’t help but smirk. “You really are a shithead, aren’t you?”     

“A shithead who can’t allow some kid-genius to get his hands on her secret ingredients. He’ll run me out of business.” She measured out a fourth cup of flour and sprinkled it into the pot once the butter melted completely and stirred until the two ingredients morphed into a soft paste. Soon after, a small bowl of diced yellow onions got thrown into the mix, folding them in until gilded edges could be seen.

Levi was at the sink, rewashing the same two plates and mugs that he had already cleaned five minutes before. And five minutes before that. And another five before that. Keeping track of his cleaning routine had become near impossible as of late, but with his upcoming expedition looming over him, it wasn’t hard to see why.

“If you keep doing that, they’ll snap in two. Can’t you find something else to scrub down?” She regretted the words as soon as they came out of her mouth, which was ridiculous. There was nothing wrong with that sentence. But recently her mind had been twisting her words until they sounded vaguely… inappropriate. It was becoming more and more of an issue with each passing day. Any simple, _normal_ phrase somehow rearranged itself to imply something far less innocent than what it was intended to be, which led to her over analyzing _everything_ she said and did. This was something that needed to be snuffed out. _Fast_.

Luckily, it didn’t seem like Levi’s brain was wired in that direction. At all.

“Tch.”

Emilia chuckled and poured a cup and a half of chicken stock into the pot. “What’s with that face? Too proud to admit my apartment is _clean_?”

“Only because of me,” he grumbled, turning his head slightly in the opposite direction. He wore a long-sleeved gray shirt and dark pants, both worn and sewn together in various places. The sleeves were rolled up, revealing a disordered array of scars along his forearms. Most of them were faded, thin lines, while others looked to be fairly recent. If she had to guess based on their coloration, she would say that he got those at the same time that cut on his left cheek appeared, around when Queen Historia took the throne.

_Levi, what do you even do out there?_

Emilia couldn’t help but feel the urge to trace one of the larger scars that stretched from the side of his right wrist all the way to his elbow, disappearing beneath the fabric of his shirt.

_Wow, okay. Get a grip._

“Uh-huh. Sure. Be a doll and grab the milk for me?” She forced herself to hold her line of vision on the heated pot on the stove, yet her wandering thoughts to get the better of her.  

No matter how she sliced it, having Levi over was inevitable. Of course he would show up at her tiny, one-bedroom apartment and make himself a part of her home - why wouldn’t he? First her bakery, now her home. It felt _right_ , like he belonged here.

The first time she invited him over, just after visiting her brother’s grave, it was uncomfortable in the most natural of ways. The plain design of the joined living room and kitchen area felt both new and empty, like it was lacking _something_ she couldn’t place her finger on. All the storage cabinets lining the walls were only half-full, and she suddenly realized that the dining table was designed for _two_ people. It was as though Emilia herself was seeing it all for the first time, re-contextualizing the space around Levi's presence. She felt like a stranger in her own home, not in an unpleasant way, but rather in a way that felt new and becoming. Like she finally had someone to share these hollow rooms with.

All the loneliness she had accumulated over the years lifted off her shoulders; a bird with a broken wing relearning to fly.

They didn't know how to act or what to talk about in such a small, private space, so instead of spending time _together_ , they spent time existing around one another. Emilia nervously baked a honey cake while Levi dusted things that _definitely did not_ need dusting. He cleaned every inch of her small wooden dining table, and even the two matching chairs. Top to bottom, left to right, front to back, they were spotless. From there he moved to the windowsill by her couch, to the lilac curtains hanging off to the sides, and then finished his rounds with the bookcase next to the window that had four shelves crammed with cookbooks she hardly used, a mystery series that was missing the most recent installment, textbooks and notebooks from before she dropped out of university, and trashy romance novels that had clearly seen the most use. Once he wiped down everything, he flipped through the books and interrogated her on her "shitty taste in literature," and closed his argument out with, "I'm certain now that you need a new brain."

That was the first time he invaded her apartment with his obsessive cleanliness and gentle presence.

This current time, two days after that awkward yet lovely first, was a different story.

It was late afternoon. Emilia had opened up the bakery earlier that morning, same as she would the following day, and had already changed into her night clothes as soon as she got home. Her plan had been to make a pot of tea, read a book, do something about the spider she found in her bedroom, and fall asleep as early as possible. Instead, a knock sounded at the door, making the baker jump from her seat at the kitchen table.

"Oi, open up. It's me."

_It's me._

Emilia's heart fluttered uncontrollably and she immediately dashed over to fling the door open, nearly tripping on the corner of the throw rug stupidly placed in the middle of the room. It was then she realized that she was wearing only her nightgown. Sure, it wasn't revealing by any means, but Emilia tended to lean more towards the reserved side of the spectrum. More importantly, her nightgown fell just above her knees. She did _not_ want _Levi_ of all people to see her legs. Being a baker and constantly moving around in a cramped kitchen meant that she bumped into things on a regular basis. And she happened to bruise like a _very_ ugly peach.

He looked her up and down, eyes widening the further south he went. “The hell happened to you? Who--?”

“Nothing,” she cut him off before he could concoct some tragic theory in that head of his. “I bump into stuff a lot.” _Please don't make a big deal out of nothing. Please, please, please._

His eyes narrowed, and a part of her was convinced that he was looking far off at something, or _someone_ , else entirely.

_He’s definitely not going to let this go._

“Anyway,” she continued, leaning against the threshold of the door. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing paperwork or sitting through meetings or something? You’re not usually out this early.” Which was true. Levi typically paid her visits either before the sun rose, or at night, after Commander Smith dismissed him for the day. In fact, she had already seen him earlier that morning. He was at the bakery before she was, attacking her poor kitchen floor with his favorite mop, and left just before opening. It was unusual for him to be out and about while the sun was still up.

“Erwin and I have a late night tonight. Told me to go take a shit for a few hours.”

“I’m sure the Commander of the Survey Corps used that exact terminology.”

“What is this? An interrogation? Or are you planning on leaving me out here all day?”

Emilia stepped aside and gestured him into the apartment. “Of course not, come in. Make yourself at home, I’ll get dinner going.”

She had changed back into her work clothes since then - a pair of fitted dark gray pants, a long black apron, and a plain white buttoned shirt - though that didn't stop Levi from occasionally muttering under his breath about her "hiding shit" and "probably picking alley fights over buttercream." Honestly, Emilia was just proud that he had distinguished buttercream from other types of frosting. Her influence was clearly seeping in, to which she grinned down to herself.

"What?" He handed her a glass milk bottle, standing entirely too close for comfort. She poured in three-fourths of a cup of milk into the pot and stirred with a wooden spoon. Levi didn't budge on the proximity, but rather shifted his stance so that he was leaning with his back against the counter. His calm breaths were audible from this distance, and if she had so much as lifted her elbow while stirring, it would have bumped into his shoulder -- a scenario she was painfully aware of and involuntarily dwelled upon.

_I wonder what his heartbeat would feel like under my palm… Wait, no! Pull yourself together! Don’t forget how annoying he is!_

Emilia focused on the fact that the top of Levi's head fell _just_ beneath her nose, and suddenly her nerves settled.

One thing Emilia was eternally grateful for was her height, or, more accurately, his. She would hopefully never have to worry about his face getting too close, about him seeing the truth in the depths of her eyes. After all, he would always stand at the perfect height for her to press her lips to his forehead, their gazes would never be met head-on.

Not that she would _ever_ kiss him, forehead or otherwise.

Not that she wanted to. Because that would be silly. Idiotic, really. And atrocious. And wrong. Definitely wrong.   

…

Great, one more thing to worry about.

"You go from smiling to nervous in seconds. Over _nothing_ ," he discerned, and she could feel irritation hanging off the edge of his lip. "You need help," which was Levi-speak for: _you’d better tell me what's going on here, you know damn well I hate being left out of shit._

“Nothing, nothing. Just thinking.”

“About?” Posed as a question, but most certainly a demand.

“About how much it would hurt if I ever walked into you. I could chip a tooth on that hard head of yours,” she replied, bravely adding an impromptu wink at the end and effectively dooming herself to spend the rest of her life cringing at the memory. His jaw dropped and his eyebrows shot up in a way that said, _that’s all you could come up with? Seriously?_

Little did he know that it wasn’t _too_ far off from the truth.

“Now,” she continued, using her free hand to throw in a dash of salt and pepper before turning her body to face him. “Please stir this and let me know once it starts to bubble.” When she handed off the spoon, his calloused fingers brushed against hers like a shard of iron gently stroking a feather. Not that she was keeping track of that sort of thing.   

“Tch.”

“Don’t make that face, I need to cut the potatoes and chicken.”

“I can cut them. I cut things all the time, in case you haven’t noticed. I think I can handle a potato and some bird meat.”  

“Listen,” she started, picking up her utility knife from the counter and pointing it as playfully as she possibly could at Humanity’s Strongest Soldier. “You keep your titan-slicing expertise away from my chicken breasts.”

Whether or not Levi’s eyes flickered away from her face, down to her chest, and then back up to her face again within a fraction of a second, she could never be sure. However, she definitely felt her skin boiling under his gaze when their eyes met. Blood rushed to her cheeks so fast that she thought she might lose her balance and topple over.

“J-just stir,” she huffed. For once he didn’t argue, so she sent up a silent prayer in thanks. Quickly cubing two potatoes and one pound of raw chicken, the pink fleshy meat slimy between her fingers, she focused on willing her pulse to slow down and the heat coursing through her veins to dissipate.

After a couple of minutes, Levi’s voice startled her back to her senses. “It’s bubbling.”

She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, just in case her face was still as red as it felt. “Toss in that bowl of vegetables to your left, please,” she said, motioning to the pre-cut vegetables she had left on the counter by the stove. The rhythmic _plop plop plop_ of peas, carrots, celery, corn, and green beans into the bubbling mixture sounded from behind her, almost as if he was dropping them in one by one.

“What are we even making? I’ve never seen whatever this is before.” It was about time his skepticism made its grand appearance. “I get the sense I’m not going to like this.”

“New rule: you’re banned from asking questions until after you taste the finished product.”

“Oh-ho? Banned, you say?”

“That’s right. Banned. Baker’s orders.”

“You know… if you were one of my subordinates, I would have kicked you hundreds of times by now,” he hummed somewhat absentmindedly. It was that casual demeanor that told her he wasn’t lying, which only added to her amusement.  

“That’s why I never enlisted, Captain,” she chuckled, instinctively turning to meet his infamous _I-dare-you-to-say-something-stupid-right-now_ glare. Emilia never backed down from one of his silent dares. “Long ago, back when I was still young and innocent, I had a prophetic dream of sorts. It was of a tiny demon who wreaked havoc within the military using only a broomstick and dustpan. What’s more, his lifeforce was fueled entirely by black tea and toilet humor. I knew if I enlisted, I would have to face this demon and defeat it with shining heroism. Now, years later, here you are. Haunting me anyway.”  

He absorbed that for a moment, tilting his head to one side as though being weighed down by the sheer force of disapproval alone. His eyes fixed on Emilia, watching as an agglomeration of giggles spilled out of her that she tried and failed to cover with the palm of her hand. Levi’s eyes twitched ever so slightly, like he wanted to smile, but the muscles in his face forgot how to. “Perhaps I should kick you anyway.” He cut his gaze down to her legs and grimaced, like they were some long-lost foe who had just resurfaced out of thin air. Tension bundled itself deep within his shoulders. “So where’d you really get those bruises? Don’t hide shit from me, I hate that. I want the truth. Or do you intend to keep spewing filthy lies until you’re blue in the face?”

It was only a matter of time before he resurrected that subject. Levi seemed to be under the impression that if he didn’t like an answer to one of his inquiries, he could reframe the question at a later point and _somehow_ her response would be different. It was as if he was testing her, trying to prove that she was lying to him for whatever reason his anxious thoughts led him to believe.

His trust issues constantly needed to be reigned in, which was a fact that dawned on Emilia not too long ago - about two months prior, shortly after her birthday and around the time when her feelings for him began to blossom into something she couldn’t quite define. Now, weeks later, she had become fairly decent at halting his accusatory mindset in its tracks, though she still fell short more often than she cared to admit. She didn’t mind keeping this side of him in check, reminding him that she was his friend, not his enemy. He didn’t need to constantly be on defense.

“I would never lie to you, remember? Never,” she assured him, placing enough emphasis on each word so that he knew they were genuine, but not so much that they came off as condescending. There was a fine line to balance. It was important for her to repeat those phrases whenever his distrust was on the rise, and remaining calm when doing so was paramount.

A few weeks ago, Emilia had written to Hanji regarding this very topic, asking for the best way to communicate with Levi when his rationality flew out the window, which seemed to happen more and more as of late.

She distinctly remembered scrawling all her frustration into that letter-

 _“Section Commander Hanji Zoë - You may not remember me, but I work down at the bakery Captain Levi frequents. You requested that I write to you if he started exhibiting strange behavior. Well, he’s been making quite a few baseless accusations as of late, and they all sound_ _very_ _unlike him… To give you the condensed version: I apparently “shit talk” him when he’s not around (I do not), I only befriended him out of pity (again, this is untrue), and, according to Levi, I’m plotting to sell the bakery without telling him and disappear. The latter occurred the day after I got a fever and had to leave work early, hours before he stopped by - I am not blind to the connection. Please do not think I am unsympathetic to his situation. However, as you can imagine, these outbursts are startling and seemingly appear out of nowhere. He typically gets irritated anywhere between a few minutes to a few hours at a time before calming down enough to talk it through. Is this something that is normal for him? I hope this letter does not come as a bother to you, as I only wish to help. Sincerely, Emilia Becker.”_

Hanji sent back pages upon pages of coping methods that worked for him, key phrases he responded well to, and strategies for a multitude of different scenarios, along with a personal letter expressing how happy they were to hear that Levi was opening up enough to show this side of himself to someone outside of them and Commander Smith.

 _“It might sound strange, but he’s like this sometimes when he first gets close to people. I went through the same thing myself,”_ they wrote towards the end of the letter. “ _As I’m sure you’ve pieced together by now, Levi is a stranger to intimacy and he does not fare well with elements unknown to him. Believe me, I do not mean for this to come off as an excuse_ \- _it is not, and I hope you give him hell for being an ass (might I suggest mixing laxatives into his food? It seems fitting, all things considered). Truth be told, this is the first time I have ever seen him make a friend outside of the Corps. I am tempted to run experiments on this phenomenon, but I have no intention of getting kicked into an early grave. If it is of any comfort, please know that this phase, for lack of a better word, will eventually pass. Until then, be as honest as possible with him. Leave no stone left unturned. Sincerely, your all-time favorite Survey Corps member and close personal friend, Hanji Zoë.”_  

Emilia's feelings were becoming painfully obvious, which made this process especially difficult. Hiding her emotions was once a skill she was proud of, but apparently Levi was developing an immunity the same way children developed diseases. She couldn’t tell him why her gaze sometimes lingered on the curve of his neck, the dark lines under his eyes, the edges of his jaw, or the pale pink of his lip. She couldn’t tell him that when she spaced out, she was imagining what it would feel like to be cocooned in his arms, or to wrap her own around the taut expanse of his back and hold him close enough that their heartbeats might harmonize. No. He couldn’t know those things, so instead she either danced around the subject, or fell into the eternal abyss of sarcasm.

It wasn’t lying. It was a stream of creative diversions.

Sometimes he bought it, most times he didn’t.

But because of his preexisting suspicion, Levi tended to press further into _every_ matter. Even when she had nothing to hide.  

“I really do just bump into things a lot,” she added, waving her hand back and forth like she was swatting a fly. “Last week, after I finished cleaning the oven, I left the door open to air it out. A minute later, I totally forgot and walked right into it. Got a bruise that looks like a plum.”

He made a sound that closely resembled a snort, shaking his head just a bit, and returned his focus back to the stove to remove the pot from heat. “You should try using ODM gear sometime.”

“I would crash into every tree in the forest.”

“Exactly.”

_J-E-R-K!_

“Aww, Levi! You’re so sweet! Such a gentleman!” She put on her best fake smile and placed her hands over her hips. “I should really start a fanclub in your honor one of these days!” Although, it was likely such a club already existed. Maybe even two or three. She would have to look into that on her next day off.   

Levi let out a small “heh” before she heard the click of him turning the front stove burner off, which was as close to a laugh as she was ever going to get again. That first one must have been a fluke because it was proving to be impossible to replicate.

Emilia moved towards him and pulled down her cast iron pan from the cupboard overhead, placing it on the back burner and igniting high heat. Once a generous amount of oil had been drizzled in and began to sizzle, she slid the cubed chicken and potatoes into the pan. It didn’t take long for the chicken to cook all the way through and for the potatoes to begin softening, maybe six or seven minutes at most, so she placed the pot with the creamy mixture back onto the front burner and set it on low heat. Levi, meanwhile, was preoccupied with brewing a pot of tea.

“You have so many teapots,” he remarked. “Did you steal them, or did you actually manage to justify _all_ these purchases?”

“Shhh, I need them.”

“For?” He picked one out from the array of colorful teapots she had in her cabinet just outside the kitchen and brought it over to the sink to rinse out. A navy blue porcelain pot with silver birds painted all around, flying towards the spout. It wasn’t dirty, they all got washed on a bi-weekly basis, but he probably wouldn’t have believed her if she voiced the fact. Or, even if he did, he wouldn’t have cared one bit.  

“The green pot is for green tea, for starters.”

“You really do need a new brain. Maybe Hanji has a spare lying around.” He reached up and lightly flicked her forehead. “We’ll have to burn the old one so the stupid doesn’t spread and infect everyone. Along with those disgusting books you keep over there,” he said, pointing back towards the bookcase with his thumb. Emilia didn’t have to ask to know he was referring to the romance novels.

“You wouldn’t know a good plot if it hit you square in the jaw.”

He tsked and crossed his arms after filling the kettle with water and setting it on the back burner parallel to the one she was using. “Plot… Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“You didn’t even read any of them!”

“I don’t need to.”        

Once the potatoes were soft enough to pierce with the wooden spoon, both them and the cooked pieces of chicken were folded into the other half of their chicken pot pie filling. Now came the tricky part: convincing Levi to leave the room long enough for Emilia to pour the mixture into the pie crust she had hidden inside her ice box, completely out of sight, and shove it into the oven without him noticing. If he found out she was making yet _another_ savory pie, she'd never hear the end of it. No way was she about to have him give a lecture on her "severe misunderstanding of what pie is supposed to be" during the forty-five minutes it needed to be in the oven. Not on her watch. So. In anticipation for this moment, the baker came prepared. Or rather, tragedy struck at the most opportune time.

“Hey, Levi?”

“What.”

“I need your help with something, but you can’t make fun of me.”

He rolled his eyes, landing them in narrow slits aimed directly at her. “What did you do?”

_Here goes nothing._

She turned off the stove and moved across the cozy apartment, catching his arm as she passed and dragging him in the direction of her bedroom. She felt his arm tense in her grip. “Oi, oi. What exactly are you-”

“Relax, I need you to put your expertise to good use.” She opened the door and led him inside for the first time. He took in the room with a quick sweep of his eyes - a neatly made double bed with white sheets covered in a collage of colorful blankets and quilts, an old oak wardrobe with intricate rose patterns etched along the edges, a blue book on the bedside table, lilac curtains that matched the ones in the main room, a door leading into the bathroom. He nodded towards her window, which had been left open since dawn.

“You shouldn’t leave that open, you know. Ever.” His footsteps were swift and silent as he stepped over to slide the window shut, clicking the metal bolt to lock it down. “At any point, some pig could just…” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he had to physically stop the lecture from spewing out of him. “Just leave it shut from now on. Anything could get through that thing.”   

“Yeah, I had that realization earlier when I got home from work.” He lifted a confused eyebrow and she pointed up at the corner ceiling in response. There, stark against the cream colored paint, a giant hairy spider and several of its demonic spawns had made themselves at home. The largest of the spiders inched slowly across its web, and seeing it move drew a small squeak from Emilia.

A little known fact: the baker was terrified of bugs.

For the second time that hour, Levi’s jaw hung open. “You can’t be serious.” Catching him off guard was one of life’s unexpected pleasures, so she cherished the dumbfounded look on his face.

“How do you expect me to live my life when those things exist?” She pointed at them again, adding emphasis this time. “Be extra careful, Levi. That one right there is almost as big as you are.” Such a comment earned her a modest smack upside the head, but it was definitely worth it.

“Tch. The things I do for you. Get me a chair and a damp cloth.”

“Yes, sir!”    

Once both items were retrieved for him, Emilia hurried back into the kitchen to pour the chicken filling into the prepared buttery crust. She layered a stretch of pie dough over the top, poked holes in the center with a fork, brushed the surface with melted butter, and placed the tin in the oven before Levi re-emerged from his spider-hunting duties.  

While washing out the pan she had used for the filling, the bathroom sink could be heard through the walls, which meant that the spiders were probably dead and Levi was washing his hands like a maniac to erase the filth. “Stupid bugs,” he mumbled upon returning to the kitchen. “No one needs that many legs.”

“I appreciate you doing that for me, thank you.” Emilia flashed him her best smile, the one he never argued with, and laid the now clean pan upside down on the drying rack next to the sink. "Truth be told, I've always been afraid of bugs. All my friends used to make fun of me for it."

He crossed his arms tight over his chest. “You've never mentioned that to _me_ before.”

“Of course not," she chuckled sheepishly. "You fight titans, Levi. _Titans._ I don’t even know what a titan _looks_ like. It's embarrassing to admit such a silly fear to someone who faces far worse. To you, of all people.”

“That’s a stupid excuse.” His eyes darted down to his feet for a moment and then reconnected with hers. “But you’re telling me now. What changed?”

Yes, what had changed?

Perhaps, somewhere along the line, she ceased to think of him as “Captain Levi: The-Hero-Titan-Slayer-Guy-With-A-Bitter-Personality” and instead just “Levi: a guy who was good at his job (with a _slightly_ bittersweet personality).” Of course, she respected him for all he did in the military, and for everything he sacrificed for humanity’s sake. As time passed, and the stories regarding the Survey Corps’ expeditions spilled out of him like water breaking free from a dam, the more amazed she became in her friend. The fact that she thought highly of him could never be divorced from their relationship.

But he was still annoying, so.

Confiding in him about the little things felt less and less intimidating as time went on.

“Like I said, I’ll never lie to you. Besides, you and I are close. I see you more than any of my other friends. And, unlike them, I actually kind of miss you when you’re not around.”

“Miss me…” He watched her skeptically. That last line was added in to stroke his ego, but she’d never know if it worked or not. Levi wasn’t one to outwardly express pride in emotional affairs.

“Yeah… miss you. Only sometimes,” she said, her breath abruptly off-balance. The setting sun shed a warm flush of coral across the wooden floors, shadows stretching out their limbs after a long day of slumber. Filtered light seeping through the window caught on his dark hair and accentuated strands that refused to stay put. She cleared her throat. “And since we spend a lot of time together, getting rid of bugs will forever be your responsibility. It’s only fair that you know why.”  

“Hm. I see.” He seemed satisfied and started searching through her tea collection in the upper far-right cabinet in the kitchen. The sounds of boxes and tins being pushed aside and rearranged brought a smile to her face. Once he found his beloved black tea, which may or may not have been intentionally placed in the _waaayyyy_ back, he glanced over at the stove. “Where’d all the food go?”

“In the oven. No peeking!”

“Tch, why not? What, are you wasting expensive foods on something stupid again? How are you affording all this meat and dairy anyway?” Not a bad question, but also one she had been dreading.

“You might kick me if I tell you, so-”

“Out with it.”  

“Ugh. Fine, fine.” She held up her hands in surrender and moved to the counter to take the tea tin from Levi, rolling it over in her hands as if looking for a hidden message. Doing this allowed her to avoid awkward eye contact, or at the very least be flexible with it, since the curious glimmer in his eyes was more than a little distracting. Plus, telling a story was easier if she had something to occupy her hands with, instead of letting them fall limp at her sides like sadly deformed tree branches. “So you know why all these apartments were made, right?” The one-bedroom home that Emilia lived in was in no way unique. Her entire neighborhood was comprised of identical apartments all with the same basic interior design.

“I don't keep track of every building’s history, shithead.”

So she sighed and explained that when Wall Maria fell and survivors spread through Wall Rose, people were forced to sleep in shelters or in the streets. Women and children were the first to be evacuated on the boat. As a result, a disproportionate amount of men - husbands, fathers, sons, brothers - had been eaten, leaving their families that much smaller. Single mothers, widows, sisters, and daughters were left to their own devices. After the suicide expedition decreased the population to a more manageable size, a need for smaller homes grew rapidly. Government officials approved the notion to amend poorer parts of the city to accommodate new residents, so they took this neighborhood, which had been too run-down to live in, and remodeled it to fit the displaced families.

“So, when all those people… left. When more space opened up, I was eligible to apply for this apartment.”

“But you’re from Wall Rose.”

“I know. But I moved out of my parents’ house so my nephew, Jonas, could move in. Technically _he_ was the eligible one, but obviously he couldn’t be left alone. Kid wasn’t even a toddler yet.”

“Huh?” His eyebrow shot up. “A baby was eligible for housing? How the hell does that make sense.”

“You think the government was checking everyone’s ages? They based all of this on a half-assed census they took once the survivors entered the gate. The only thing that mattered was the down payment. They didn’t ask for ages. Or gender, for that matter. Which reminds me: if you ever see my landlord, please refer to me as ‘Jonas.’”

Levi snorted. “Whatever you say.”

Isaac had been a resident of Wall Maria at the time of the breech. A couple years before, he had met a girl, Lucia, who was visiting her grandparents for a few weeks in Wall Rose. He fell head-over-heels in love, so much so that he decided to relocate when it came time for her to go back home. He followed her like she was the air coursing through his lungs, the blood that kept his heart beating.

Emilia had never understood that decision until fairly recently.

Nonetheless, they got married and, months later, found out they were expecting. Emilia had only met Lucia a couple of times, so she wasn’t overwhelmed with grief when the woman died during childbirth. Many women shared the same fate, especially behind Wall Maria, where there weren’t as many physicians or midwives readily available in comparison to the other two Walls. Instead, Emilia’s heart broke for her brother. Isaac, of course, was devastated, and in his grief he fully devoted himself to fatherhood. When the Colossal and Armored Titans appeared, and the residents of Wall Maria had to evacuate, Isaac was one of the few younger men allowed on the boat for the sake of his son, Jonas, who had barely begun walking by that point.

Isaac and Jonas had moved back in with their family. Emilia, who still lived with her parents at the time, gave up her room for her brother and nephew. It was meant to be a temporary situation. Once things settled down, The father and son would find a home nearby and Isaac would work for Emilia at the bakery, which had been passed down to her the year before. But when Isaac was sentenced to join the expedition and never returned, everything changed.

Emilia’s parents were initially against the idea of her moving out of their home until she got married, but flexibilities had to be afforded once Jonas was there to stay. Since having a baby in the house would inevitably interfere with the baker’s sleep schedule, she applied for the apartment in her nephew’s place. They didn’t ask too many questions under the assumption that all of her identification forms were lost to the titans, but the fact that she “already had a decent paying job” landed her the apartment in no time. They charged her double what they were demanding of the other residents, but she didn’t mind. Giving up the extra money assuaged the feeling that she was an imposter, taking a home that could have been used for someone else who needed it more. That guilt was dull and gnawed at her from time to time.

When she relayed this story to Levi, she was overtaken with surprise when he didn’t bat an eye at her past and present selfishness. Instead, he said, “what does all this have to do with you buying expensive shit,” and left it at that.

Emilia didn’t think it was possible for this man to take up anymore room in her heart than he already had, yet here he was, shoving his way through to make even more space for himself. How could someone be so beautiful and so annoying at the same time?

“I save a lot of money living here, with it being so small and easy to manage. And the bakery is successful, so.”

“Tch, you could have just said that.”

“But you’re so darn easy to talk to.” Which was true, but irrelevant at the moment. “Besides, aren’t you the one who wants to know everything?”

If eye rolls were audible, his would be screaming. “Whatever. Figures someone like you is reckless with money. I should kick you.” He turned back to the counter where the teapot was, taking the tea tin away from her grip with a quick sweep of his hand, and carefully measured out the loose tea leaves into the strainer. The water in the kettle was beginning to boil, making his mutters that much harder to hear. “Though I doubt kicking you would accomplish anything.”

“Oh please. If you had money to spare, you’d probably blow it all on fancy tea leaves.”

He poured the hot water into the pot, steam rising into his face and dusting his cheeks a soft pink. “I never said I wouldn’t do the same thing.” Pausing, he looked around the counter and frowned. “This place is a mess. You did this on purpose.”

“Gotta keep you busy while the food’s in the oven. You’d go through my room and dig up all my secrets otherwise.” Emilia had no such thing, per se, unless the bottle of whiskey hidden at the bottom of her clothes drawer could be considered a secret.

“Any secret of yours probably has to do with poisoned sprinkles,” he countered, giving her way too much credit.

While the tea seeped, the two of them worked on washing the counter. Levi’s posture relaxed as more and more space cleared up, something about watching the flat surface go from floured and stained to spotless ignited a genuine calm in him. It was hard not to get caught up in the fluidity of his movements, how his arms glided across the counter like melted fudge over frozen custard. The fabric of his shirt clung to his back, which was much broader under the lens of focus and brought on the reminder of exactly what he carried over it. Emilia could have sworn she saw the hint of a smile when she started humming an old lullaby as she worked.

Still, he couldn’t enjoy the tranquility for long. “I still have to teach you how to use that gun. Just in case something happens, if you’re ever at work alone. Before I leave,” he said, dropping the sentence there.  

“Why must you always bring up guns when we’re having a peaceful moment?”

“Just do it.”

“Can we _please_ talk about this some other time?”

“Listen.” He pinched the bridge of his nose as though he just had this same conversation not two minutes ago. “I get it. Picking up a gun means there’s a chance the trigger will get pulled. By you, against you, it doesn’t matter. Sparing a life or taking a life hangs in the balance and that’s not something anyone can take in stride. But you have to.”

She may have just been overthinking it, but those words sounded like something one would say to soldiers, to people willing to cast aside their humanity for a cause. Not bakers. Not ordinary people living ordinary lives.

He did this sometimes. Once Levi switched over into Captain mode, there really wasn’t much that could change his mind. But Emilia wasn’t one of his subordinates, she was a friend. There was a reason why civilians avoided the military and this right here was it. “I don’t think I’m cut out for that kind of thing. I understand the safety concern, but robberies aren’t common in our neighborhood, and the few times they have happened, no one ever got hurt. Having a weapon might put us in more danger in the long run, right? Plus, that’s a lot of responsibility and, if I’m being honest, I don’t think I’m strong enough physically to handle it.”

“That’s why I’ll teach you,” he said, his words picking up pace. “I’ll show you how to aim, how to utilize and build your strength, how to use it so it doesn’t get turned against you. Say you’ll let me teach you.” Thick veins were beginning to surface on his forearms as he balled his fists, skin tight over his knuckles. “It’s for your own protection.”

“Look, it’s not like-”

“Do it.” He bit off the words like they were alive and squirming and in need of being torn in half. “Stop arguing with me.”   

She sighed. Sure, his fears weren’t unjustified. The threat of getting robbed was alive and well in any establishment, despite the relative safety of the neighborhood, but the likelihood of getting killed was slim to none around these parts. Just because a thief was out to steal money didn’t necessarily mean that they were willing to take a life in the process, especially considering the increased possibility of getting caught as a result. Emilia had taught her employees to quickly and quietly comply with a robber, just as her father had taught her, since it was better to lose money than to put themselves in harm’s way. And, not for nothing, but having a gun in the bakery put her on edge. Of course her, Esther, and Lukas could learn how to _use_ that rifle he hid behind the counter, but, to call a spade a spade, they were also timid, petite, and scrawny respectively. Any weapon they tried to wield would end up being used against them. “Levi, I doubt I’ll-”

“Emilia. For me.”

His words, almost pleading in nature, dismantled any argument she had built up. “... I mean, I guess I just don’t really see how-”

“A gun hidden behind a bar counter once saved my life,” he interrupted, his voice swaying between cautious and acidic like a broken pendulum. “I wouldn’t be here right now had the owner been a fool who underestimated how shitty this world is. You never know when you’re going to need…” He was growing restless, a frightened cat with its fur standing on end, and the whiplash made Emilia lightheaded. Just a moment ago they were enjoying each other’s company.

Hanji had warned her about this, saying something along the lines of, _“once he starts to feel safe, he immediately jumps to the worst case scenario. Please be patient with him, it’s not entirely his fault.”_

For the time being, she chose to let it slide that he indirectly called her a fool. “Fine,” she sighed, feeling somewhat defeated. “You’re right.”

“You don’t mean that.”

Soreness constricted in her throat, a thousand eggshells slicing through its walls. “I do!”

“No, you’re just saying that so I’ll shut up.” He seemed utterly convinced, folding his arms and narrowing his glare. A thin layer of sweat coated his forehead, wrinkles folding like a crumpled piece of paper, and he noticeably held his breath. “That’s what it is, isn’t it?”

“No, Levi. I’m not just saying that. Don’t get the wrong idea.” She held her arms out towards him, aiming to place her hands just below his shoulders, but he took a step back.  

“You think it’s a waste of time.”

“No, I don’t!”

“You think it’s some kind of joke.”

“I never said that!”

“You think I’m-”

Emilia stumbled forward and grabbed hold of both his arms, cutting him off before he had a chance to finish that thought. He didn’t pull away from her touch, but instead leaned forward ever so slightly into it. “I don’t think that, Levi. I don’t. I would never.” She stepped even closer to him, her heart an erratic bird thrashing beneath the confines of her rib cage, and, before she could think better of it, leaned in to press her forehead flat against his. The pale blue in his eyes shrunk as the pupils expanded. Confrontation was not her forte, especially where Levi was concerned, the mere thought of it sparked and fanned her nerves until anxiety unleashed its claws and took over. When she opened her mouth, her breaths fell out in uneven shards, fragments of words and panicked phrases that barely registered in her mind. “I… I don’t…Um. I could never know the things you know… And, shit, Levi, I haven’t seen the things you’ve seen. What makes sense to you might not make sense to me. And… and that’s okay. Because… well. I _trust_ you. Even when I bitch and complain about everything you say, I will always _trust_ you.”

Warm hands cupped the frame of her jaw, slim fingers curved and tangled in her mess of dark hair, his touch like ice against burning metal, yet he held them both hostage to the silence that grew unsteady under sheer proximity. Emilia bridged the centimeter gap between them and bit back a gasp as her chest brushed feather-like against his, just enough for her to feel the cadence of his rapid breaths clashing against the pounding of her heart.

He tilted his head back a fraction, severing their forehead contact but instead leaving room to stare into her eyes, searching for whatever it was he needed to find. The fingers that were caught in Emilia’s hair dug deeper until they reached her scalp, holding her head in place and effectively keeping the angle of her gaze at his eye level. Levi’s pale blue eyes were wide, like he’d just seen a ghost or a three-headed cat, the lines in his forehead pushed up by the high arch in his eyebrows.

It was as if he was seeing something new for the first time. Something he never realized existed until this moment.

After a certain point, the silence became overwhelming. “I’m sorry, Levi,” she said, close enough to a whisper that left her wondering if he could feel her breath on his lips. He didn’t answer, didn’t let go. “I don’t want you to think I don’t take this seriously. I’ll learn, I promise.” She still wasn’t a fan of the idea, but when she thought back to what Hanji said, about jumping to the worst case scenario once he started to feel safe, then she knew this was a war she couldn’t win. Shouldn’t win, perhaps. And if it meant this much to him, and allowed him to regain his sense of stability, then the least she could do was compromise. If it didn’t work out, then the matter would resolve itself. “I won’t be any good at it, but I can try.” And, for the sake of relieving the tension, she added, “I’m still going to bitch about the things you say, though. Can’t let you have it too easy around here.”

“Heh,” he murmured, though it sounded more like a bell to her ears. “I’ve never heard you say ‘bitch’ before. Sounds stupid coming from you.”

“Guess you’re rubbing off on me.” Words like _rub_ and _scrub_ needed to be avoided at all costs because they made heat rise to her cheeks and, honestly, this was _not_ the time or place for those types of thoughts.           

“I almost feel sorry for you.”    

“No need to pity me,” she sighed, pressing her forehead back into his and allowing her eyes to flutter shut. Being this close to Levi was far and away more comfortable than she ever imagined it would be. “Taking after you a little… it’s not bad.”

“Oi.” His left hand slid out from beneath her hair and traced the line of her jaw, landing just under her chin. Emilia’s eyes flicked open as he tugged her chin down to be linear to his own, his other hand tightening its grip in her hair with their lips now separated by a mere inch.

And then, of course, the oven timer went off.        

Because apparently the universe didn’t want Emilia to have nice things.

Levi’s eyes startled open, arms quickly dropping to his sides as he took a step back. Then another. His cheeks and ears were getting redder and redder by the second, which he poorly hid by masking the lower half of his face with his hand and locking his gaze down to the floor, strands of hair providing a thin curtain over his eyes.

Emilia, for her part, was frozen in place, her arms still hanging in midair. Had that just happened? Had that just _almost_ happened?

What _exactly_ were they about to do?

Was this a hallucination? A dream? Maybe even death? All of those options seemed far more likely, but she could still feel the pressure of his hands in her hair, his fingers along her jaw, his face on her face.  

“Well,” she said after a painfully awkward moment. “Guess there’s no better time to give you the bad news.”

He looked up slowly, oh so slowly, as though only registering half her words. “Huh?”

Emilia led the way to the oven, with Levi following not far behind, and opened the door, letting loose the savory aroma of a creamy, buttery, all-around masterful chicken pot pie. She knelt down, a pair of oven mitts in hand, pulled her creation out, and brought it up to rest on the stove.

“What is this shit.”

“It’s a pie, Levi.”

“I can see that. Clearly you have no idea what a pie is supposed to look like.”  

“This is a _chicken_ pie,” she said, pointing to it to add emphasis, which was partially because she liked watching irritation lines form on his brow, but mostly because she needed something to do with her hands to stop them from shaking.

“A chicken- … Hold on just a second, you shithead.” He still wouldn’t look in her direction, so he glared at their steaming meal on the stove as if it physically attacked him. “... First it was an egg pie. Now it’s a chicken pie.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Is this your way of saying… Tch… You know what? Forget it. Brat.” The inquiry ended there and for the first time in a long time Emilia had NO IDEA what he was trying to say. Now was not the time to play around with her nerves.

“Don’t just ‘tch’ whenever you please, especially in the middle of a sentence! Way of saying what?”

His muttered response, monotone in a way that proved even _he_ knew he was saying something stupid, required a moment of hard analysis. “... That you think the egg came before the chicken.”

Emilia wasn’t sure how she knew, but in that moment, she really, _really_ , knew.

So before she could stop herself, she stepped forward once more to wrap her arms around Levi, whose body tensed and relaxed within a fraction of a second, and whose arms clutched tight to her back. His face dug into her shoulder, leaving little room for himself to breathe, smooth dark hair tickling the side of her neck. With his voice muffled by pressing himself into the fabric of her shirt, he said, “You’d better not think the egg came first.”

“Then where did the chicken come from?”

“That’s not what we’re talking about, clean your ears out.”

Silence peacefully passed between them, enough that the wind from outside sent soft whistles through the windows. The moon was out now, full and scintillating and generous in its guidance, a silver tint catching against all its light touched. “We should eat before it gets cold,” she purred into his hair. “Before you have to leave”

He gave a curt nod but didn’t budge. His hands were warm against her skin - one in the middle of her back, while the other was positioned on her hip, stiff and light, nearly hovering, as though it wasn’t sure it had permission to be there. Emilia ran her hands up from his shoulder blades to the base of his neck gently, afraid of sudden movements breaking the moment. From there her hands travelled up beyond the undercut to land in the midst of his hair, rubbing small circles into his scalp with her thumb. He let out the tiniest of moans and Emilia swore her whole body had been engulfed in flames. A prickling sensation erupted in her cheeks, her smile so wide that he surely would have been skeptical had he seen, so she pressed herself further into his embrace. The longer this lasted, the more time she had to will away the obvious affection that must have been displayed starkly across her features.

It had been a long time since Emilia last held someone like this, and it was her first time with a person she had attached real emotions to. Physical contact was not something she was well versed in, her anxieties had always limited how far she could connect with others, but still she had craved that level of intimacy the way a bird craved the sky under its wings.

And now she had a taste of it, standing in the arms of a man she was, slowly but surely, falling in love with.    

        

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. If you wanna get on my case about regular updates and / or tell me how awful I am for that oven timer thing, here's the place to do it: farodiluce.tumblr.com 
> 
>  
> 
> One thing I do want to note is this: now that Emilia is more of a stable element in Levi's life, I want to start exploring the parts of him that we don't see much of in the series, but must exist. Namely, his trust issues, control issues, and abandonment issues (because Kenny BROKE HIM OMG). Emilia is in a unique position. She's non-military, which means that Levi has zero power over her. Unlike the canon characters of the series, whose base tie to Levi is duty and a common cause, Emilia is only linked to him based on their emotional connection (which I think terrifies him because, let's face it, he's probably very insecure). This places her on the same tier as Kenny, in a way, so I think Levi would probably self-sabotage to prevent himself from getting hurt again? Levi is portrayed as an emotionally strong character, but I think that in situations that require him to be vulnerable, with only a little sense of control over the situation, his mental / emotional hang-ups would manifest the way they would in any normal person?? (but kinda heightened because, ya know, the angsty Ackerman thing)
> 
> Let me know what you think, though. Levi is hard to pin down lol. 
> 
> This particular side of him is something that I'm basing off of personal experiences and external research. However, the best results come from a variety of input and feedback, so if you think something should be added in / taken out, please let me know! This chapter is likely one that will need a lot of editing to do as much justice possible to the character. 
> 
> Also, if you like chicken pot pie, then [this](http://www.kitchme.com/recipes/old-fashioned-chicken-pot-pie) is the recipe I usually use (both for dinner and for this chapter). 
> 
> Next chapter will feature Erwin Smith btw.


	10. Broken Teapots Won't Get You Anywhere, But A Good Horse Might

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey kids, do you want some *flips open trench coat* FLUFF? And maybe a little *slams briefcase down on table* ARMIN? And maybe even a dash of *throws business folder at the wall* ERWIN SMITH? Then I think I got a little something for you. 
> 
> But if you came here looking for MIKASA and EREN, with a side order of HANJI and ANXIETY, then sit your ass down because I got you covered, fam. 
> 
> Ya girl Emilia's about to go outside, pray for her.

“All I’m saying is that I think you made ‘nutmeg’ up,” Armin said, applying air quotes as he paced around the bakery’s kitchen, inspecting jars of ingredients the way an investigator would a crime scene. The joke was on him, though. Every jar of nutmeg had already been hidden out of sight, along with all the other, less common spices. Emilia really needed to reinstate her policy of not allowing anyone behind the counter.

“A bold accusation,” the baker said, pretending to be engrossed with kneading bread dough. It was too early for this type of mental combat. “What led you to that conclusion?”

The blond studied her, watching her facial features carefully with a grin before responding. “None of the spice sellers in these markets have ever heard of it before. No other bakeries use it. It’s not in any of the culinary books I was able to get my hands on. And the name itself, honestly, sounds fraudulent,” he said, ticking each point off on his fingers.  

“Figures someone as shady as you would snoop around to that degree, heh.” Armin was a lot of fun. So much fun, in fact, that maybe the anti-people rule wouldn’t get reinstated. For now. “But clearly you’ve never ventured to the hidden markets behind Wall Sina.”

A glint overtook the boy’s eyes. “Are you implying that nutmeg is some type of Inner Wall secret?”

“I’m not _not_ saying that. There are many mysteries in this world unknown to you, young lad.” If she didn’t have flour all over her hands, she would have pat him on the head.       

A long huff sounded from the corner of the room. “Are you two done with your lame conspiracy theories?” Eren was leaning against the wall, half-asleep with his arms folded and about seven different types of boredom written across his face. “Armin, since when are you so invested in cake?”

“Not yet, Eren! And this is important! She’s really suspicious!”

“Hey, kid,” Emilia said, pointing from Eren to a jar on the counter opposite him. “See that yellow jar right there? Open it. I think you’ll want what’s inside. No. Actually, you _need_ what’s inside.”

The brunette pushed himself off the wall and approached the jar with minute buoyancy, his eyelids straining to stay open until he unscrewed the lid. “Ohh! Cookies! I can have one?”

“Take as many as you like,” Emilia said as she turned back to shaping the dough, crumbs sticking to her fingers only to get refolded into the whole. The molasses cookies were from the day before, so it was better for them to get eaten than thrown away. To further wedge the point under Armin’s skin, she added, “They have nutmeg in them.”

“I’ll have to make a trip to Wall Sina one of these days,” the blond said, taking an offered cookie from his comrade and scrutinizing it with the same amount of concentration Hanji afforded to titan research. “I still don’t think I believe you.”

“Good luck finding my supplier.”

“Sounds like you’re talking about a drug deal,” Eren said flatly with half a cookie hanging out of his mouth. “Is that what nutmeg is? A drug? Because these things are kind of addictive.” The jar was cradled under his arm like it was precious to him, the same way her nephew held his favorite toys, which only served to emphasize how young these two soldiers were.

It also confirmed a theory Emilia had formed back when they first met en route to the florist: they didn’t eat desserts very often, if at all. Didn’t Levi feed these kids sweets? Ever? They were growing teenagers, willing to risk their lives against titans for humanity’s sake. Surely they deserved more sugar in their diets, in her completely unbiased opinion.

 _He probably doesn’t let them have ANY fun, being the stuffy old man that he is. I’ll have to scold him later._    

“Oi, Eren, don’t eat all of them. You’re starting to remind me of Sasha,” Armin said and reached a hand out to pull the cookies away, ignoring the drug comment. Man, this kid was shady. “Save some for Mikasa!”

“That reminds me,” Emilia started, turning to the boy now holding her jar away from Armin’s grasp, which looked not unlike a hostage situation. “Why didn’t Mikasa come in here with you two? Did she dump you?”

To say that Eren’s face turned the color of an overripe strawberry would have been an understatement. “W-whaaa?!” When he didn’t continue, the baker simply raised a curious eyebrow to egg him on further. “S-she’s not! And I-I’m not! We’re like family! Tell her! Armin! Tell. Her.”

Armin was too busy choking on his own laughter and using the opportunity to swipe the jar away from his friend, so Eren was out of luck on all fronts. Keeping a straight face was the hardest thing Emilia had ever done up until now, and, seeing as she spent most of her free time with the most annoying person this side of Wall Rose, that was saying something.

_This right here is the teenage drama I live for._

“Oh-ho? You don’t like her, then? What a shame,” she said as the frenzied boy rushed over to her side of the kitchen to cup his hands over her mouth.

“Shhh! Don’t say that so loud! She’ll hear you!” Eren nodded towards the little window connecting the kitchen to the front room where Mikasa chose to wait, sheer panic in his bright emerald eyes. This kid really wasn’t in a position to lecture _anyone_ about volume control. “I don’t like her, I do _not,_ ” he hissed, still somehow managing to break his own auditory standards. “And I don’t want her thinking I do.”

“Eren,” Armin said. “You might want to be careful. If the Captain finds out you laid a hand on his… _friend_ … well… you know what he’ll do. To you, specifically.”

To which the brunette jumped three feet back and buried his hands in his pockets, a new fear layering over his features.

Normally, the question of what punishments Levi dealt to his poor subordinates would have arisen, but there was no time for those types of ponderings. Instead, panic transferred from Eren to Emilia in less than a second. “Oi, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hmm?” Armin responded, all innocent-like.

“Don’t play dumb with me. What do you mean by _friend_?”

“Are you asking for the definition of friendship? Because I’m afraid that’s rather subjective.”

“No, no, you brat, what do you mean when you say I’m Levi’s _friend,_ all serious and stressed like that?”

“Section Commander Hanji said you’re ‘ _friends._ ’” There he went with the air quotes again. Eren, for his part, just stood there looking confused, but also relieved that the spotlight was no longer on him.  

_Damn you, Hanji!_

“Besides,” he continued. “There are no alternate meanings. I simply mean to say that you’re _friends_ , are you not? Just good old _friends_?”

He smirked.     

Armin was a real demon.

Meanwhile, out in the front room, another demon’s irritated voice sliced through Emilia’s fumbled silence. All three of them gathered to crowd around the little window that peered into the main room from the kitchen.

“No. No. Not like that, Esther. You’re just puffing dirt in the air when you sweep like that. It’ll all fall back and the floor will be filthy again. Press the broom _down_ over the dirt and scape it towards you. Good, like that. Exactly.” Levi stood a good two centimeters over the younger employee, whose hands were noticeably shaking.

“Esther,” Mikasa cut in from her seat at the table nearest the counter, her tone dry and stained with malicious intent. “Don’t listen to him. Brushing up dirt only affects short men. You don’t want clientele like that anyway, they’re no good.”  

Esther squeaked and the two boys on either side of Emilia gasped, their jaws hanging so low flies could have flown in undetected.

“Shut up or I’ll mince you, brat. Esther. Keep practicing. Your useless boss will need you to keep-”

“Levi,” Emilia interrupted through the window. “Are you harassing my employees again?”   

“-this place clean for a little,” he finished, side-eyeing the baker and his two subordinates. “What are you shitheads looking at?” He turned to face them fully. The usual cloth tied around his head felt out of place against his military uniform, which he never wore during his morning or nighttime visits. Typically, he preferred dark pants and long-sleeved shirts, clothes that were faded and had holes sewn together in various places. He used to wear his military green cloak when he came simply as a regular customer, but abandoned that for a dark gray hooded coat to match his civilian clothes. They were easier to clean in and allowed him to blend into the morning shadows or the evening darkness. He once mentioned that Survey Corps uniforms had a way of attracting public attention, which he hated for a multitude of reasons, but Emilia had a feeling that it was _him_ and his reputation that caused passersby to point and stare. Today, however, was different. Armin had apparently gathered up all his courage to ask if he could visit the bakery with him, and, with the expedition only a week and a half away, Levi was not cruel enough to say no. But he also wasn’t going to drop his pride and wear civilian clothes while his subordinates wore their uniforms either. And the fact that Levi was puffing out his chest more than she’d ever seen him do made Emilia’s eyes roll. “Oi. Eren, those crumbs on your face better not end up on the floor.”

“Y-yes, Captain!” Eren quickly disappeared back into the kitchen to scrub off the crumbs into a trash bin. Armin ducked down and circled his way back to the far end of the kitchen, seizing the abandoned cookie jar before Eren stood a chance. Adorable.         

“Esther,” Emilia called over to the nineteen-year-old. “You clean however you want. You’re the one who’s going to be in charge while I’m gone in a couple of weeks anyway, so I give you permission to test out your authority now. Feel free to confiscate that man’s broom privileges.”

Esther shook her head no harshly, like she was trying to test how sturdy her brain was inside her skull, all the while not taking an eye off of Levi and his scowl. “And where _exactly_ are you off to? Going on vacation the second I leave? How selfish.”

From behind her, Eren and Armin were whispering to one another like two toddlers who were convinced the art of stealth was on their side: _“We should run before we get roped into this. We’ll round to the front entrance, lure Mikasa out, and hide somewhere… Somewhere high up.”_

 _“We can’t! There’s no back door!”_ Which was not true. Levi had blocked the back door with weighted boxes and tarps some time ago after a peculiar… incident… regarding another member of his squad. But they didn’t need to know that just yet.

_“It was nice knowing you, Armin.”_

Emilia chuckled, partially at all the annoyed wrinkles on Levi’s face, but mostly because those two idiots behind her couldn’t tell when their own captain was _actually_ upset. “No, I’m not celebrating your departure, or however you worded it. I have to go buy supplies from the marketplace in Wall Sina. Gotta go once or twice a year. Sorry, I thought I mentioned it to you?” Truth be told, she likely forgot since things had been so tense between them these past few days. Neither of them had brought up what happened that night in the apartment. Because why be competent adults and address the issue when they could be children and ignore it altogether?

It was nice to know they already agreed on such sensitive matters, which definitely helped validate the baker’s feelings for him. Because that was the healthy way of looking at the situation, right? Right?

Sure.  

But also, the thought of asking Levi whether or not he was actually going to kiss her made the acid in her stomach do backflips.  

“This is the first I’m hearing it,” he said, wrinkles on his forehead subsiding. His brow crinkled, an indication that he was trying to find the right words to string his thoughts together. “Don’t go in two weeks. Go in two days.”

“Eh? The Public Transport doesn’t leave for another two weeks, though?” Once a month, a dozen or so civilian carriages take passengers from Wall Rose to Sina, then they round back a few days later. They’re pretty large and overly crowded, but it’s the only way to travel between Walls for working class people who can’t afford to hire a private coach. From start to finish on a private ride, the journey would last about two days, assuming the only major stop was at night. The Public Transport, however, made multiple stops. With so many people, all with varying bladders and stomach capacities, it would have been inhumane to plow straight through with minimal stops. Plus, some got off in different districts, while other passengers hopped on. Emilia was looking at a miserable four and a half day journey, nine if she counted the return trip.         

Levi, on the other hand, did not care for public anything. “Erwin and I have meetings to attend to with Historia and Zackly before the expedition. Come with us. The military have their own coaches, so. Two days travel, one day there, two days back.” He paused before adding, “You have no reason to say no.”

_Is four days total trapped in a carriage with you and your BOSS reason enough?_

Emilia would honestly rather trip and fall down a flight of stairs than be stuck in THAT uncomfortable mess.

But, like, small stairs. With padding at the bottom… and maybe a pile of pillows because she really did bruise like a rotting peach.

“A tempting offer, but who will run the bakery on such short notice? I can’t just burden-”

“You have no _good_ reason to say no.” He leveled a glare at her and clapped a hand down on Esther’s shoulder without the slightest trace of hesitation, a gambler revealing his trump card at the very last second, to which the girl grinned from ear to ear in kind. Poor kid hadn’t seen past his “Humanity’s Strongest Soldier” title yet. Or she was afraid to say no, which would not have been out of the ordinary for her, but something told Emilia it was the former. Esther was harder to pin down than most, not quite at Levi’s level, but close. Her expressions had a way of betraying her emotions more often than not - a “yes” when she meant “no,” a smile when she was upset, a certain stoic calm whenever luck came her way - she was a head-scratcher, that one.  

“I-I can hold down shop while you’re away! I was going to do it anyway, so it’s okay if it’s sooner rather than later..”

“That’s very kind of you to offer, Esther. Are you sure it’s of no inconvenience to you? It is short notice. I won’t be upset if you decline.”

“No, no! It’s okay! I can do it!”  

Emilia hummed apprehensively and thanked the girl. She couldn’t possibly go with them. It would be too awkward, too uncomfortable, and entirely too inappropriate. “But Levi, wouldn’t Commander Smith be against this idea? He doesn’t know me, surely he doesn’t wish to spend a long carriage ride with a stranger.”

“Erwin just reads the whole damn time anyway, boring piece of shit. He won’t even notice you once he shoves a book in his titan-sized face.” Levi rounds around the counter and leans against it, facing the little window. Emilia wiped her hands on her apron and went out to the main room to lean across from him, ignoring the puzzled expressions on Eren and Armin’s faces. “Besides, those brats in there are coming too. Same goes for that moody brat glaring daggers over there,” he pointed back to Mikasa. “Separate carriage, of course. Can’t stand listening to them for longer than ten minutes. Eren will be attending the meetings, but Armin and Mikasa will need a babysitter.”

 _Armin, sure. Though I really doubt Mikasa needs a babysitter_ , is what Emilia wanted to say, but instead came up with, “I just think it would be inappropriate for me to go with you. I’m not military.”

Levi was quick in his response, almost as if he had rehearsed and polished it to perfection in advance. “I still have to take you to the orphanage, you know. Show you around. Introduce you to the staff. You’d be riding in our carriages anyway, so it might as well be now. Saves me an extra trip in the long run, so.”

“Excuse me?”

“Tch. This is what happens when your brain is just one giant puff pastry, you forget important shit.”

“Wha-? …Levi, we don’t sell puff pastries here,” she said, throwing her hands up with enough grandiose zeal to make the captain’s eyes narrow. “I haven’t made _those_ for you, what is this? Have you been visiting _other_ _bakeries?_ Is the tea here not _good enough_ for you anymore? Have you found someplace _cleaner?_ Honestly, I’ve never felt so betrayed in my life, I _trusted_ you.”

If Levi’s left eye twitched any faster, it would have surely damaged the nerves underneath. Emilia bit down on her bottom lip as she failed to suppress even a single giggle clawing its way through her airways, and bringing a hand up to her mouth to muffle the sound was an even worse failure. Armin may have been fun, but Levi… well, he was in a league all his own.

His hand found the neat bun her hair was tied in, a firm tug turning her head in his direction. “I should bake you into a shitty meat pie. I’d have to dice you up first, though, and all that stupid in your crap brain might be contagious. Wouldn’t want to get dirty.”   

“You’re such a sweet talker,” she said, low enough that only he could hear. “It’s no wonder you have entire fan clubs in your honor.” Which he did. Tons of them. Emilia checked and was mostly amused, though a small part of her was left a tad concerned. Levi’s gaze was unwavering and easy to get trapped in, so she didn’t realize how long she’d maintained eye contact for until her vision started to blur at the edges. It wasn’t until Emilia blinked and tilted her head backwards that he let go, retreating back into his folded arms and rigid military posture. “I’m just pulling your leg, I remember you mentioning the orphanage. I still want to help out, absolutely, but I didn’t realize it was in Wall Sina?”

“Hmm. Historia needed it to be someplace close enough for her to still manage her duties as queen.” He paused and looked to the ceiling. “You’d get to meet her, if that’s the type of thing that interests you. I already told her you’d visit. She’s expecting you eventually.”

“Please don’t talk about me to the Queen, thanks.”

“And if I don’t make it back from Wall Maria,” he continued, completely ignoring her, “I don’t trust you to find the place on your own. You promised to feed those brats.”

Emilia didn’t remember _promising_ anything _,_ but she also wasn’t about to dispute his claim. He was really trying to push this, which felt odd. Was the journey to Wall Sina so boring that he needed her company to pass time? “So, what you’re saying is that you want me to spend a total of four days in a carriage with you and your boss so that I can babysit two teenage soldiers, who don’t need supervision, might I add, and then bake cookies with the Queen?”

“Glad to see that puff pastry still works.”

She sighed. “Someone’s thorough. You’re really sure it’s okay? I only hesitate because I’d feel awful if I somehow got in the way of your work.”

“It’s fine. I don’t want to have to worry about you getting mugged over your stupid spices out in the middle of nowhere on Public Transport. They don’t have the best track record, so I don’t see why you’d choose them over us anyway. It’s better if you’re home before we leave for Shiganshina,” he said, but Emilia understood what he was really getting at: _You need to be home when I get back, if I get back. I need you here._

She knew better than to argue this time. “You’re right. I’ll go with you. I wouldn’t want to miss your return, after all.”

“I see… Not a bad answer.”

 

~

 

Two days later, Emilia woke before the break of dawn. After taking a bath, she dressed more formally than normal, a crisp white blouse tucked into a dark gray skirt that fell just below her knees with black stockings underneath. As a final touch, she tied a pale blue ribbon in her hair, which definitely did not match Levi’s eyes. She did _not_ buy it for that purpose, she only got it because she decided to start wearing cute ribbons, FOR NO REASON IN PARTICULAR, and it happened to be the last one the seller had in stock, obviously. It had nothing to do with Levi. Not even a little bit.   

_Who am I kidding? Maybe I do need a new brain._

The anticipation of meeting Commander Smith ate away at her. First impressions were the cornerstones of any relationship, ultimately, and being on good terms with the Commander meant a lot to Emilia. This was Levi’s _boss,_ a man for whom she had only ever heard high praise. He was a great leader, a master of strategy, a ray of hope for all humanity. Levi respected him, sure, but with the way he talked about him in all the stories he told, it was almost as if the two were family. Perhaps even closer than family. The bond between them was something Emilia could _feel_ , straight down through her bones, even though she had never even met the Commander himself. It was a palpable thing, this bond, and it radiated through every expedition tale told, every throwaway comment made.        

Levi painted Erwin Smith as the pinnacle of human perfection. His importance, or better yet, his _presence_ , draped over the atmosphere like a veil stretched from one edge of the Wall to another as soon as his name got brought up. It wasn’t something that could be _seen_ , per se, but rather a lens through which Levi viewed the world.

Emilia, on the other hand, was a shithead baker with puff pastry for brains.

So. No pressure.

Flutters in her stomach refused to settle, so breakfast consisted of a slice of bread and a banana. Despite the bland food, she still felt like she was going to explode from overactive nerves.

She had to meet Levi in front of headquarters before light overflowed the horizon. There were a few things she had to carry with her, the first being her black satchel, which contained several coin purses, keys, a notepad and pen, a case for her glasses, two books, and her lucky jar of honey. It was small and made of glass, the letters written on the side illegible, if one could even call them letters. Honey never went bad, no matter how many years pass, so this unopened jar was passed down to her from her father, who got it from his mother, who got it from her mother, and so on. It came with her whenever she travelled, bringing with it the sense of home.

The next item she had to bring was her suitcase containing spare clothes, a toothbrush and paste, face and body cleaners, bathing supplies, a towel, a bottle of perfume her mother _insisted_ she use, and a first aid kit. Five days away seemed like a lifetime, but Emilia tried not to overpack. In doing so, she made a point to leave a considerable amount of free space to fit all the spices she was going to buy at the market.

The last on her list was a basket filled with food for the journey. Emilia was in no way confident in her abilities to win over Commander Smith with her personality, so she baked him buttery croissants filled with apple preserves, fresh biscuits that sandwiched cold slabs of salted meat, cheese, and spinach, along with mini spiced autumn cakes with creamy vanilla frosting to compensate for her social shortcomings. If he didn’t like her as a human being, she would make damn sure he liked her as a baker.

Before an excuse to back out of going cropped up in her mind, she bundled up in her favorite coat and forced herself out the door.   

Levi was waiting for her outside of headquarters when she approached. Now that Emilia had a broader view of him and his uniform, she appreciated how it hugged his frame, accentuating his broad shoulders and firm back. It held a certain air of dignity over him that she found attractive - decidedly masculine, but lacking all of the intimidating qualities.  

And whatever those straps over his waist and thighs did was a total mystery, but Emilia was in no way complaining.

She had her suitcase in one hand, the basket in the other, and her satchel slung over her shoulder. He met her halfway down the cobblestone path and relieved her of the suitcase. “Huh. Figured you’d have more stuff.”

“Good morning to you, too. And you know I don’t own too much.”

“Except a million teapots.”

It was too early for his grumbling. “Hush, you.”

She followed him to one of the three carriages parked right out front of the large stone building and they shoved her bags inside. He turned to her. “We won’t be leaving for another hour. Come inside. I’ll show you around.”

On a list of places Emilia thought she’d never visit during her lifetime, the Survey Corps headquarters was damn near the top. If someone had told her a year ago that Humanity’s Strongest Soldier would coax her into a carriage ride to the Inner Walls with him and Commander Smith, she would have probably laughed and then immediately delved into a year-long anxiety attack. But she didn’t dwell on that, and instead tried to remain casual. “Do I get to see your office?”

“It’s nothing special,” he said, but led her there anyway.

He wasn’t wrong, his office was almost as bland as Emilia’s apartment, but, at the same time, it felt distinctly _him._ The wood floors were polished, the walls painted a crisp white, his desk neat and orderly despite piles of paperwork, and even the bookcases along the far left wall were pristine. There was something overly linear about the room, like everything from his coat rack to his waste bin was standing at attention with the same ideal military posture Levi himself displayed. It was only the red cushioned chair behind his desk that looked worn, lived in.

“I always imagined you’d have decapitated broomsticks chained to the walls, or mops hanging from the ceiling in iron cages. You know. Kinda like a torture chamber,” she remarked, taking the room in.

“Didn’t comply with the budget,” he hummed. “It was either that or tea.”

“And you say _I’m_ reckless with money?”

“Tch.”

Next he guided her through the rigid hallways, cold and unforgiving in their stillness - even the slightest of sounds ruptured a haunting echo - which led out back towards the training grounds, completely stripped of grass, and the adjacent horse stables. “This one’s mine,” he said, patting the sturdy neck of a majestic dark gray stallion with a black mane and sharp eyes. It was beautiful.

“Wow,” she breathed just before he gently took her hand in his and brought it up to the spot behind the horse’s ear. She tried not to dwell on the fact that Levi was leaning on his toes to reach.  

“She likes it when you pet her here.”

The horse was soft and nuzzled her head down closer, her deep breaths the only sound passing between them. “Remarkable,” Emilia said. “What’s her name?”

“I don’t name them. For my own peace of mind,” he answered. “This is my third horse since joining.”

“But I thought you said titans only…” _Ate humans?_

“They do. But they'll sometimes trip on the horses, or maybe over their own massive feet, and fall on top of them. Titans aren't heavy, but they are stupid and slow to move, save for the abnormals, who are just plain stupid. Dumb bastards will suffocate whatever they fall on without a care in the world.” He took a step back and looked past his horse, out through the small window behind her at something Emilia couldn't begin to fathom. “Horses can sometimes slip when it's raining, hit their heads on giant ass rocks. They’re harder to maneuver when there’s mud and puddles everywhere you turn, especially when your vision gets compromised… When you're out there, anything can happen. It doesn't matter how much you believe in your own abilities, or in the abilities of those you trust. When push comes to shove, you're always going to be at the mercy of either a titan's stupidity, or pure chance. One wants to eat you, the other is completely indifferent to whether you live or die. In the end, you’ll always have to make a choice, and it needs to be one you won’t regret. Or else…” Levi turned to look at her now, letting that thought drift off, a melancholic intensity she had never seen before shrouding his eyes, overtaking his features, spreading down to the heart he so clearly wore on his sleeve, hidden behind layers upon layers of doubt and failure and guilt. And if she held her breath tight and listened hard enough, she could hear the cracks splitting that heart in two like an axe piercing stone. “But the outside world… it's unlike anything I've ever seen. Unlike anything I could ever explain. The air is different out there. Life is different. Colors are brighter… birds sing differently.” He furrowed his brow and tilted his head down to focus on the horse's hooves, the strands of hay underfoot. “I don't know.”

Outside, the horizon mimicked an amethyst under candlelight, the sun just about to crown its head with hints of rose budding beneath the surface. It was almost time to leave, but neither of them so much as shifted their weight.

Emilia lowered her hand from where Levi left it behind the stallion's ear and laid it on his shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Thank you, Levi,” she said, her voice soft and yielding to the sudden soreness in her throat. “For everything.”

Levi placed a callused hand over hers, closed his eyes, and sighed.

 

~

 

Emilia was unsure what the link was between the Survey Corps and giant blond men, but the connection existed and she was determined to find it.

_First Eld and now this guy? I don’t know about this._

She leaned over to Levi as they walked closer to the group of ten or so soldiers loading the carriages. “Is that him?” She didn’t need to point. The man stood out like a sore thumb.

“Yeah.” Emilia turned right around with every intention to run and hide, but Levi quickly caught her with one arm around her waist. “He can’t help that he looks like a small titan.”

“That’s not what worries me.”

“Then you have no good reason to be afraid.”   

The closer they got, the larger the man became - both in body and presence. If someone told Emilia that this man was the one who first set fire to the sun and commanded it to shine, she would have believed them wholeheartedly.

They were a handful of yards away now, the man coming into fuller view with each passing step. Next to him was a familiar face.

Hanji.

The very same Hanji who just so happened to notice her and Levi approaching before anyone else did. “EMILIA!! HI! I’M SO GLAD YOU’RE HERE!” The enthusiastic waving didn’t make matters any better.

_Please, someone kill me._

It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say that every eye turned to Emilia, who wanted to melt into the ground and never been seen again.

And then the giant blond man began walking towards her.

“If you try to run again, I’ll throw every teapot you own off Wall Rose,” Levi muttered so low under his breath that a part of her wondered if he said anything at all.

_Well, there goes that plan._

Emilia tried convincing herself to hold her head up high, but for the life of her she could not meet this man’s gaze. Looking directly into his icy blue eyes could have very well set her on fire right then and there.

“Hello,” the man said, stopping a few short feet away. He held out his left hand to her, and she was surprised that her nerves allowed her to take it in stride. Levi had given ample warning to offer her _left_ hand to shake, that his right arm was no longer a part of him, so, at least in this one regard, she felt mildly prepared. His grip was friendly and light, but it was obvious he was holding back on what must have been one hell of a handshake. “You must be Emilia Becker. My name is Erwin Smith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have you met my son, Armin? Pls be nice to him, he's very shy. 
> 
> I was going to have Erwin go to the bakery, but let's face it: he doesn't get out much. 
> 
> Here's my tumblr if you wanna chatttt: farodiluce.tumblr.com 
> 
> I'll see myself out now.


	11. Travelers Never Did Lie, Though Fools at Home Condemn Them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you get when you put Erwin Smith, Levi Ackerman, and a baker together in a tiny carriage all day long? 
> 
> Awkwardness. You get awkwardness. 
> 
> But who's the most awkward of the three? 
> 
> Definitely Emilia.
> 
> (also, title is a Shakespeare quote, in case you were wondering)

Just as a hen didn’t belong in a pack of wolves, Emilia did not belong in a military carriage that the Commander of the Survey Corps would soon occupy. And it showed. Her constant fidgeting and wide eyed glances at all the uniformed soldiers loading bags into carriages were akin to a trapped deer in the face of a grizzly bear. Every angle she considered this situation from brought prey cowering before its predator to mind, which lit a fire under her already burning nerves. 

What didn’t help was that the seating arrangement was quite possibly the worst imaginable and it was all Levi’s doing. 

“Huh? Sit with the brats? The hell is that supposed to mean?” They were standing outside the carriages, waiting as Erwin finished signing off on one last document before their departure. Morning light bathed the opposing side of the Survey Corps headquarters, leaving them standing around to kick pebbles and crush leaves under their boots in its pale shadow. 

“I mean, wouldn’t it be better if I sat with your _subordinates_ instead of your _superior?_ ” Armin, Mikasa, and Eren were out of earshot, sitting half-asleep at the stone steps of the building. The blond boy looked over to Emilia with droopy eyes and smirked. Surely up to no good, that one.  

“Tch. What is this? Am I not worthy enough to sit in your presence, your royal shittiness?” Unlike before, when she tried running away altogether, Levi seemed genuinely bothered by this, which was notable through the sharper edge in his tone, the deeper line in his brow. 

Emilia had to wage war with herself to not dish out some sarcastic retort. There was a time and a place to pick fights with Levi, but now was not one of them. “That’s not what this is and you know it,” she said, though he remained unconvinced. “It’s just…” 

He crossed his arms, face and brow unwavering, and cocked his head ever so slightly to one side. “Hurry up and spit it out, we don’t have all day.” 

Well, it seemed that _someone_ had already run out of patience for the day. A little earlier than expected, yet also not completely out of left field. Emilia had been putting effort into being honest with her emotions, on telling Levi exactly how she felt in situations of this nature. Since his temper was a raging bull and her growing feelings towards him were no tamer, being upfront tended to be the most reliable method at her disposal. But it was harder than it should have been more often than not, and much easier to write down than to say aloud, which made her feel like an idiot. 

_It’s just two words. I know what they are, I know how to say them, so why is it so difficult to make them come out?_

Deep breaths helped, particularly when it came to making sure her voice was soft enough that no one else could hear. “I… I’m nervous. That’s all. He’s… important. To you.” The last four words were forced through gritted teeth and she wasn’t entirely sure if they even sounded like real words.   

Levi’s face didn’t change at all, save for the slight shift in his brow that somewhat eased the edge of irritation. He opened and closed his mouth once, twice, only for nothing but air to come out, so instead he walked past her to the carriage, held the door open, and pointed inward. “Get in. Now.” 

She didn’t argue, despite the sudden desire to dig a hole in the ground and bury herself alive, as he looked about ready to pick her up and throw her in. Patience was a virtue Levi had in short supply on a _good_ day, which in no way complimented his equally short fuse.

The carriage seated four people comfortably. Plush violet cushioning and gilded lining gave it a distinct upper class feel, especially when compared to the backless wooden rows of seats the Public Transport provided. Some space was allotted for bags - hers, Levi’s, and the Commander’s - which narrowed the available seats down to three. If Emilia had any choice in the matter, she would have sat by the window opposite the door and across from the luggage. That way, if Levi sat next to her, she would be diagonal from Commander Smith, and would therefore feel less pressure to exchange awkward, surface-level chit-chat that she would inevitably regret for the rest of her life. That would have been ideal, all things considered. But instead, Levi, apparently, was exacting revenge for the countless times she used him as a lab rat for her failed recipes. Just before she was about to climb the small steps up into the carriage, he cut in front of her, got in himself, and extended a hand to help her up, effectively stealing her desired seat. 

All this to say that Emilia was now seated directly across from Erwin Smith, and she would remain trapped there until evening. No pressure.

The schedule was simple: ride all day with minimal rest stops, go to the inn the Survey Corps and Garrison often used when making this journey at around dinnertime, stay the night, and then reach Wall Sina by sundown the following day. 

What wasn’t simple was the idea of making small talk with Levi’s very large and very intimidating boss, who started off their journey by asking Emilia questions about herself in a firm yet soothing voice that sounded too good to be true. A genuine interest sparked in his eyes with each consecutive answer. 

“You’re twenty-seven?”

“Yes, sir,” she nodded, as if emphasizing the point made it doubly true. 

“And have you lived here your whole life?” 

“I grew up about fifteen minutes down the road from the bakery. Umm, I guess that would be about a thirty minute walk from the Survey Corps headquarters.”

“Hanji mentioned you went to university for a time?” This was starting to feel like a multi-layered interview. First Erwin, and now Hanji was being thrown into the mix. More importantly: they had talked about her amongst themselves… What else did Hanji say? What had _Levi_ told them about her? 

No time to ponder that. She was taking too long to answer. 

“I did. I dropped out when my parents retired,” Emilia squeaked, stiff enough to rival a plank of wood.

“How many years have you owned your bakery?”

“Approaching seven years, sir.” 

“So you took over at the age of twenty, I see. And your parents, they founded it? Or did they buy the business?” 

“Yes, sir, they founded it. My father was a baker, my mother mixed tea leaves. My grandparents on my father’s side were bakers in Wall Maria many years ago.”  

“Ah, a family trade. There’s something very charming about that,” he said, his eyes gentle and not at all like a _certain_ captain she knew. “I’m told you have a knack for putting this one here to good use.” The Commander pointed to Levi, who just tsked and crossed one leg over the other in response, deciding that whatever was out the window was far and beyond more interesting to pay attention to than the conversation taking place in front of him. 

“Well, I wouldn’t say I put him to use. Captain Levi is very kind.” The nervous laughter needed to stop because it was really making her sound suspicious, like she had something to hide. It was almost as suspicious as her referring to Levi by his title, or calling him kind. It was hard to tell which part of that sentence felt less natural rolling off her tongue. “It’s more like he helps out with the cleaning in exchange for tea. The staff and I are all very grateful.” It wasn’t untrue - Esther was warming up to him and Emilia obviously liked having him around. Those who only worked in the middle of the day never interacted with him, so they didn’t care one way or the other. Lukas still refused to work while he was present, though, which, to be fair, wasn’t unreasonable. The boy did nervously spill tea all over Levi’s pants during their first encounter. He used to be a huge fan of Humanity’s Strongest, now he was just scared of getting yelled at again. But still. Two out of three were grateful. 

Levi’s eye roll was something she could feel in the center of her chest, as though his disapproval was somehow ingrained in her lungs, synchronized with the inhale and exhale of every stupid word falling out of her mouth.

The Commander, on the other hand, didn’t seem phased at all, except for the ever so slight tilt in his left eyebrow. “Well, I’m glad to hear that.” He was silent soon after, turning his attention to a large book that, according to the spine label, detailed the known history of life inside the Walls. Emilia was once assigned a book like that during her time at university, but luckily she dropped out before actually having to read it. The fact that some people actually read books like that for fun never ceased to amaze her. 

Time passed slowly, trudging along with a ruthlessness to match abnormal titans. But not all of it was completely unmemorable. 

The remainder of the ride could be categorized in two parts. 

The first came at around noontime, when the sun was highest and its rays beat down on both the flat dirt path outside and the even flatter expanse of grass and stone beyond the fields. Heat waves were visible in the air if Emilia focused hard enough, which had her stomach in somersaults, so she spent most of her time staring down at her lap and twiddling her thumbs instead of looking out the window. Up until this point, the three of them rode in a quiet that only the baker seemed to feel uncomfortable in - though Levi, for his part, grew rather agitated about an hour after they departed. Now that the thought presented itself, Emilia realized that she had never seen Levi stand or sit in one spot for longer than the time it took to eat a meal, roughly a half hour. Instead, he was a storm of kinetic energy, always moving from one place to the next in stringent patterns, like he didn’t have any other choice but to accomplish his self-assigned tasks in a very specific order within a very specific time frame.  

So, to make his irritation known, he bounced his leg up and down from dawn to noon, occasionally alternating sides, and sometimes tapping his fingers against his knees like he was keeping tempo with a song only he could hear. Just watching him was tiring. 

Around this time, Erwin mumbled halfheartedly about lunch, not taking any attention from the dense text in front of him. The Corps has packed food for the trip - strange energy bars that Levi wrinkled his nose at. It was then when Emilia voiced that she had made food for them, which was stored in her basket. 

“You did?” Erwin said, looking pleased as his eyes shifted from the book to her. “That’s very thoughtful, thank you.” 

“Glad you thought ahead. I forgot to warn you about these. Damn things taste like nothing.” Levi tossed one of the bars in her direction, a solid brick wrapped in thin foil, which she caught and inspected. It smelled bland, like dry oats and bran held together by water and egg whites. Maybe there was some salt. Maybe. Erwin hummed in a good humored sort of way and, after setting the hardback down in his lap, searched through a small pouch at his left side, pulling out a brown leather bookmark. Levi wasn’t about to let that slide. “What? If you have something to say, then say it.”

“Hmm? Nothing, nothing,” the Commander replied with a smile. “It’s just, if I recall correctly, you never used to have a problem with these energy bars.” 

“Tch. Well. They’re practical, I’ll give them that.” Levi dug through the bags across from him, pulled out Emilia’s basket, and handed it over without turning to meet her gaze - all in spite of her best efforts to make eye contact. A lost cause, if there ever was one. 

She fished out the sandwiches, located at the very bottom of the basket next to the sealed containers filled with ice, unwrapped them a little more than halfway down, mindful of Erwin’s missing arm, and handed one to each, accompanied by a cloth napkin. When she made them, her goal was to provide something small enough that could be eaten in a carriage, but also hearty enough to stave off their hunger until they stopped for the night. So she turned to her most beloved entity: butter. Specifically, flaky butter biscuits. They were small, but filling, and also soft enough to sandwich salted slices of chicken, along with a few pieces of cheese and some spinach leaves. She added pickles on hers and the Commander’s, but substituted that for onions on Levi’s since pickled foods hurt his stomach. 

Well. He _said_ they hurt his stomach, which she believed, but she also had a feeling he was simply too proud to say they made him gassy. That man had no problem speaking openly about other people’s shit, but _heaven forbid_ he acknowledged his own.

“This looks great, thank you,” Erwin said, taking the sandwich extended to him. His bright blue eyes widened. “Is that meat I see in there? It isn’t every day one sees that in their lunch.” 

“Probably,” Levi muttered, unwrapping his sandwich and flipping through the layers like it was a deck of cards. “She makes a habit of drowning expensive foods in butter and baking them into pies, tch.” 

“You’re absolutely right. Maybe I should just start pickling everything instead. Fermentation is the best way to preserve food, after all.” Emilia kept her voice level in hopes of her threat sounding more like a passing thought than anything. 

He responded with an equally level, “Shithead,” before reshaping his sandwich back into tidy layers and taking a bite.   

Erwin’s eyes passed back and forth between them like the pendulum of a grandfather clock, finally landing on Levi, which made Emilia nervous for reasons she couldn’t explain. If Levi felt anything but calm, he showed no indication. With all the stored up will power he somehow accumulated over time, he remained unfazed, locking eyes with the Commander as he unblinkingly ate his food, like he was challenging him to a dare he knew Erwin couldn’t win. 

_I get the feeling that they’re somehow talking about me right now and, yeah, umm, no thank you. I would like to go home._

“Levi. Emilia,” Erwin said, blinking to her and then back to his comrade, voice deep and terse. “Might I ask you two a question?” 

When the shorter man seated next to her showed no signs of answering, she quickly sputtered, “O-okay…I mean… of c-course!” Emilia would spend every night for the next year or so dwelling on each stutter and crack in her voice, then she’d wake up long before sunrise just to relive the stabbing sensation that spawned from the annoyed glare Levi shot at the side of her head.

“Heh, good,” the Commander replied and paused, setting his food down onto the napkin in his lap. He brought a curled index finger over his lips and pressed a thumb under his chin, the pose seemed thoughtful enough that Emilia had half a mind to lean in to better hear his profound words. “Why was the chef late to the dinner party?” 

What. 

Was this a trick question? Was he setting me up for failure? Was he setting LEVI up for failure? Who was this chef? Someone they knew?

_What do I say? What do I say? What do I say?_

Emilia’s thoughts were racing and unlikely to slow down for the briefest of seconds, but when she turned to Levi, her mind instantly calmed. She had never seen him look so disgusted before, jaw hung open and eyes squinting like he was trying to decipher whether this situation was real or not. 

So this wasn’t a normal question… Okay… okay. She didn’t mind going down if Humanity’s Strongest was going down with her, that was an honorable way to fail. She could make peace with that.

“Erwin… you piece of shit, what are you getting at?” Levi’s hiss seeped sourly through his teeth, eyes wide and all types of wrinkles tensing along his forehead. It was if he was a teenager whose father was embarrassing him in public. 

“He ran out of… thyme, Levi. _Thyme._ ” And then the Commander let out a booming laugh that reminded Emilia of her grandfather’s, to which her shoulders relaxed and she no longer felt the need to appear as though she was breathing normally. One hand rose to feel out the pounding in her heart and she mentally counted until the beating faded from her ears.  

Oh. He was telling a joke.

And a damn good joke, too. 

“Erwin… how… how long were you waiting to say that? How far back were you planning to spew shit out of that crap mouth of yours?” Levi looked horrified to begin with, but that only heightened when Emilia started laughing alongside the Commander. “Oi… what the hell is this? You two… are you turning into idiots?” His irritation only served to make the joke funnier and the baker could not stop herself from laughing so hard that her sides began to ache. Maybe it was the pent-up anxiety flowing out of her like a mudslide, or maybe she was just a sucker for a good pun, but _damn_ if she didn’t relish the sight of Levi glaring back and forth between them through her tearing eyes.  

“Hey, hey, Commander Smith,” Emilia waved her hand in his direction, the other wrapped firmly around her stomach. “What happens to fruit when they die?” 

He thought about it for a moment - genuinely thought about it - then caved. “I don’t know. What happens?” 

“They get _berried!_ ” And thus a new round of snorts commenced. If Emilia had to bet, she’d wager that Armin, Eren, and Mikasa could probably hear their laughter all the way from their carriage, which rode behind the one she now occupied. They could probably also acutely sense their captain’s complete lack of humor. Both of Levi’s eyes were twitching now. 

“But have you heard this one,” Erwin started, clearing his throat. “Why don’t eggs tell jokes to one another?” 

Levi’s hand shot to Emilia’s knee and squeezed. “Emilia, you don’t have to answer that. Erwin, my foot’s going to ram your bullshit so far up your ass, I swear to-” 

She shooed his hand away before cutting him off with, “Because they’d crack each other up!” 

So. Needless to say, someone was not pleased. 

Levi spent the next twenty minutes or so sinking further into his seat with each pun exchanged, arms crossed over his chest and glaring straight forward like an angry cat, all while refusing to take part in the exchange that now flowed between his two travel companions. After they finished their sandwiches and moved onto the small squares of spiced cakes, the corny jokes shifted into a more casual conversation. The Commander asked thoughtful questions: _Do you see your family often? How are they? Ah, so your mother leads a knitting club, what a nice way to spend retirement. Does your bakery have much in the way of competition? I’ve only been to the bakery nearest headquarters - the one on the corner, do you know it? Yes, their cookies are stale, I noticed that, too. Next time, I’ll go straight to your shop, heh heh._

After the conversation came to a natural close and Erwin returned his attention to the dense history book, Emilia extended one hand to Levi’s bouncing leg, which calmed instantly beneath her touch, giving his knee a squeeze as she mouthed a calm and clear “thank you” before offering up her best smile as a way to express gratitude. 

He responded with an exaggerated eye roll, but didn’t shoo her hand away.

Really, she felt silly for being so nervous before. Erwin was a delight to talk to and holding a conversation with him was as fluid and effortless as catching up with a longtime friend. He had a way of making people feel at ease and unjustifiably confident in his presence. Emilia was sure this man would have no problem extracting information out of people without them ever realizing what hit them, which was utterly terrifying. She would hate to be his enemy. 

He was so different from Levi, who struggled with small talk and basic getting-to-know-you types of conversations. He was all or nothing, much better suited to listening to someone bare their soul rather than inquiring about their favorite color or book. In fact, after all this time, Emilia could count on one hand the amount of times she and Levi had any type of conversation in regards to the details surrounding their personal lives. Sure, they playfully bickered and talked about the bakery for the most part - what needed to be done, rude customers who threw hissy fits over the stupidest things, and new recipe ideas, to name a few. Their knowledge of each other was in-the-moment, but not much further than that. Sometimes he delved into stories of his past expeditions, his comrades, which titan kills were particularly noteworthy, and Hanji’s strange experiments with a certain Bean and Sawney. It all still fell under the category of work. Beyond that?  

_Well… I told him about… my apartment? That’s hardly anything, but the worst part is that I had spent so much time practicing that story in my head. Is that seriously the best I could come up with? Let me think… I briefly mentioned Isaac and Jonas… I don't like bugs… Oh! He knows I bruise easily, does that count? Though he might not be totally convinced on that one yet… Umm… He looked through my bookcase, so maybe he knows the books I’m interested in? … Why is it so hard to come up with things? Why are all the things I actually can list so… recent? What have we been talking about all these months? Okay, okay, calm down. He knows I’m from Wall Rose, but did I ever really tell him about my parents? Friends other than Petra? Surely he knows me? Surely I know him?_

_What do I know about HIM anyway? He likes… wearing t-shirts and long sleeved shirts at the same time._

_Okay, come on. I definitely know more than that, right?_

_I know the foods and teas he likes and dislikes, that’s for sure. I know he likes cleaning, or rather he feels the NEED to clean, but anyone with half a brain can piece that one together. We know each other’s temperaments pretty well, but what about concrete facts? What’s his favorite color? What does he like to do when he’s not working or cleaning? Does he have neat or messy penmanship? What does he like to read, if he likes reading at all? Any hobbies? Does he like animals other than his own horse? Has he ever had a lover?_

_… Actually, no, maybe I don’t want to know that last one._

_And where exactly is he from? I’ve heard the rumors, of course, but they sound ridiculous… surely he wasn’t some crime lord in the Underground?_

_How did he end up in the Survey Corps?_

_Does he have dreams outside of eradicating titans?_

_What was his childhood like? He briefly mentioned once that he knew Kenny the Ripper as a kid, but he’s so vague with details… How did they meet? Were they somehow friends?_

_Does he even have friends outside the military?_

_Where is his family?_

_Wait… how old is he?_

_What. Is. His. Last. Name? How has this not come up yet? These are SIMPLE questions! What kind of friend am I if I don’t even know his surname?! His age?! Where he's from?!_

_Why don’t I know these things? How could I be so STUPID?_

_What am I even doing in this carriage? I should have stayed home, I shouldn’t be here. Why are we even friends? Oh goodness, my chest is constricting. My throat, shit, my throat - I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. Please, not this! Not now!_

Emilia was now effectively freaking out, a newfound insecurity blanketing her, the oppressive humidity of an incoming downpour that was sure to drown her out in one fell swoop. Fortunately, Erwin did not notice the sudden, unsteady shift in her breathing. 

But Levi did. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him bend down and shuffle together a newspaper Erwin had brought along and discarded less than twenty minutes into their journey, which he rolled into a tube and tested a couple of times by rapping it against the floor. As he rose, he extended his arm and tapped her forehead with the paper once, twice, three times before saying, “Oi, dumbass. You’re hogging up too much air. We’ll all suffocate if you don’t cut it out.” For good measure, he tapped her head once more and muttered, “So selfish.” 

Emilia narrowed her vision on Levi’s sleeve, on the lone thread hanging off the edge of its hem, then moved up his arm and over to his neck, landing on the crisp fold of his cravat. Only middle-aged men wore cravats anymore, so what was he doing with one? How old was he? Did he mention his age and she just forgot? 

No, this wasn’t the time to think about that. She could already feel sweat gathering on the back of her neck, trailing south to seep through the fabric on her back. Her face was damp enough for her glasses to slide down the bridge of her nose. She pushed them back up, only to have them slip back down.  

“It is a little stuffy in here, now that you mention it,” Erwin said, insipid and uninterested, not even parting his eyes from his precious book. It _was_ hot in the carriage, but whether it was due to Emilia’s panic or actual heat, she couldn’t be sure. Erwin continued, barely losing focus. “Levi, I forgot to tell you, they fixed the windows. Remember they wouldn’t budge a few months ago? We can open them this time, if you want.” 

Levi squinted at his comrade, then back to her, tapping her over the head with his paper tube again before reaching with his other hand to open the window next to him. “...Right. Bring that up a little sooner next time, unless you want me to die of heat stroke.” A gentle breeze hit her face like ice water on a groggy morning and sent loose strands of hair at the top of her head in conflicting directions. She didn’t bother with trying to straighten them out. Curly hair was hopeless when faced with any amount of wind. Besides, she was more relieved than anything, so it didn’t bother her as much as it normally would have. Air passed through to her lungs with moderate ease now, making it much easier for Emilia to center her breathing and remember her rationality, since clearly her brain didn’t respond too well to heat. 

Perhaps that puff pastry comparison wasn’t all that far off.  

Now that the temperature wasn’t matching that of her oven, she did a quick mental run-down to settle her nerves. It was something her father taught her to do for whenever she needed grounding.  

_I am in a carriage. It’s not moving too fast or too slow, just enough that we don’t feel every bump on the road. The window is open and a breeze is circulating around us. There’s an inchworm crawling along the edge of the window and it’s kind of cute, so I won’t point it out. Levi is next to me and Commander Smith is across. The Commander is reading a book and sometimes he hums a little when he reads something interesting. Levi is looking at me like I have mold growing on my face, that paper tube at the ready. He is trying to help. He’s not very GOOD at helping, but he’s trying, and that’s enough._

After a few deep breaths, Emilia felt calmer. Not completely, but she would make it through to the next rest stop, where she'd be able to get some fresh air and walk the nervousness out of her system.   

She opened the window on her side, too. Just a crack, mindful of Erwin’s book and the stack of papers at his side, but enough to consistently feel the autumn breeze against her face.  Sunlight beating down on the glass all day and radiating heat was something she should have considered earlier on.

Leaves fell down from passing trees like drops of honey, slow and golden and near translucent. Filtered light painted broad shadows along Levi’s pale face and arms, but the blue in his eyes only stood out more because of it. He looked at her, or maybe _through_ her would be more accurate, like he was able to see every panicked thought firing off in her brain and his arched brow led her to believe that he was judging her for each of them individually.     

“L-Levi?”    

He tilted his head back slightly and brought a hand up to rub the back of his neck, the other abandoning the newspaper on the seat beside him. She’d never stuttered at his name before. “What.” 

“Well… I was wondering…” Her thumbs began to twiddle on their own accord and, as much as it clearly bothered Levi, it bothered her even more. Words tumbled out of her like falling sticks in the mud. “W-what’s your favorite… color?” 

That sounded a lot dumber out loud than it did in her head, and it had sounded pretty stupid then, too.   

“Huh? Color?”

“Y-yeah. You know. Everyone’s got a favorite, so…” She hung her head and focused entirely too hard on her thumbs, her fingernails, the washed out fabric of her skirt, anything but him. 

“What the hell kind of question is that?” 

Had this been anyone else, confusion and anger would not have been interchangeable emotions, but this was Levi, so of _course_ his skeptical response spiked her nerves up to an eleven and reddened her cheeks past the point of subtlety. “Umm.. Well. I like blue, but I don’t know what yo-”

“I know that already, why are you telling me.”

“Oh?” He did? “You do?”

“Obviously. You’re wearing blue ribbons, aren’t you?” His hand came up to her hair, slowly, gently, like she was a rabbit who startled easily, and cradled one of her ribbons in his palm, the soft fabric sounding like a whisper as it brushed against his skin, the tips grazing along until they fell below the edge of his wrist. Her thumbs stilled, light as a feather in her lap, and suddenly the carriage didn’t seem as scalding as it had just a moment ago. 

“I suppose I am,” she said, her voice unwavering now, like a boulder had just been dislodged from her ribcage. “I was just curious. I realized I never asked bef-”

“He likes green,” Erwin cut in as he turned a page. “White, too. A well-kept Survey Corps secret, heavily guarded indeed.” Finally, he looked up at them only to be met with his subordinate’s piercing glare. “My goodness, Levi. Honestly.”  

Emilia couldn’t help but giggle, covering her mouth with her hand to dampen the sound. Levi tsked and regathered his newspaper tube, not bothering to tighten it before tapping her on the head one more time. “Green and white aren’t bad. Are you satisfied now?”

“Yes, I am. Thank you.” Then she turned to the blond flipping to the back of the history book and landing on the glossary. “And thank _you,_ Commander Smith.”

“Please,” he started, and the buoyancy that sprang up in his tone brought her father to mind. “I am not your superior. Erwin is fine.” 

“Oh! Um, okay! Thank you… Erwin!” It felt strange saying his first name out loud, but she supposed he was right. He smiled and continued with looking up whatever he sought from the book’s back pages while Emilia leaned back into her seat, feeling fully comfortable in his presence for the first time since this journey started. 

She sighed out the last of her current worries. For now. There were still questions that needed answering. Tons of them. She felt their weight settling down on her chest like a new companion, a puzzle that needed consistent work, a mystery she was all too eager to solve. But they didn’t feel wrong or out of place. Instead, they were patient and budding, and when they were ready to be answered, the proper time would present itself. She breathed in and told herself that there was no need to rush, that their friendship was still as real as it felt, despite all the things she did and did not know. 

Or at least, that was what she kept repeating to herself. Maybe she’d dwell on it like a lunatic later, but not now. Now was a time to relax.

As it turned out, Levi was right - she had no good reason to worry. 

  


~

 

The second memorable moment came right after a rest stop at a lone inn in the middle of nowhere. Finally, some air and space to walk around. It was their third stop of the day, about a couple hours after lunch, but Emilia was too nervous the previous times to actually step foot outside the carriage. Levi, restless as he was, was the first to leave and the last to return during the first two stops. Now it was as if he was trying to beat his previous escape times, pushing his way outside before the carriage even came to a full halt.  

“He’s like this during long trips, it puts most people on edge. Ironically, it’s also why we don’t make too many stops,” Erwin remarked with a chuckle, gently placing his bookmark down to mark his page number. “Long meetings are challenging, especially the ones he doesn’t care for. An hour or two? Fine. Any more than that? You’d think he was serving a fifteen-year prison sentence. Just ignore him.” He stepped down from the small steps of the carriage and offered his one hand to her, which she took graciously. 

“You know, it all makes sense now. Ask me how many times he’s sat still for longer than a half hour in my shop?” Her boots crunched against brown and orange leaves as she stepped down next to him, the top of her head only reaching up to his shoulder.

“Not once. Unless you somehow knocked him unconscious,” he replied, very sure of himself. And he had every right to be. 

“Exactly. I doubt I could ever manage to knock him out, though. Not when he walks around at that speed.” Erwin shrugged and said he’d be right back, motioning towards the man driving the carriage. Meanwhile Levi was currently checking on Hanji and the others like a circling hawk, even though he definitely didn’t need to be checking on anyone whatsoever. He paced to the point where it wasn’t even pacing, just speed walking from one person to the next, tsking at everything and everyone along the way. Everyone else seemed intimidated, scared even, probably under the assumption that he was angry over some wrongdoing. One guy from Hanji’s carriage actually _jumped_ out of Levi’s path so quickly that he tripped on the landing and fell over backwards. 

Emilia just thought he was being annoying. 

“Have to stretch my legs out before getting back into that hell hole. Damn carriage is too cramped. I hate going to Sina. The whole Wall is too cramped, if you ask me,” he told her when she ran into him on her way back from the restroom. A long dirt path separated the building from the road, thin patches of grass and wild mushrooms littering the uneven stretch of lawn in between. The inn really was an isolated place, not a single other building for miles each way, with only one man working the front desk and a certain stillness limping in the air around the chilled lobby. Both the man and the atmosphere gave Emilia the creeps, but it was clean, so she didn’t have any right to complain. 

“You don’t sit still very well, do you?” 

“Nothing to do but watch you fumble around like a dumb squirrel.” He raised an eyebrow, an unspoken question Emilia had no intention of answering at the moment. 

“Oh hush.” She nudged his arm, which was harder than it looked under the sleeve of his military jacket. He didn’t so much as move a fraction of a centimeter. She could feel her face getting warmer, so it was time to change the topic. “I have a couple of books with me, if you’d like to read one?” 

“Books… by ‘books’ do you mean that frilly garbage you indulge yourself in?” 

“They’re not garbage! For the last time, they have a good plot!” 

Everything about him became very flat: his eyes, his brow, his speech, and everything in between. “Plot.”

“Yes! Plot!”

He turned and walked back towards Armin’s carriage. “Whatever you say.”

Of course she wasn’t going to drop it, so she sped up and kept pace with him. Hanji and an oddly familiar looking man, the one who fell over earlier, passed them on the way to the restrooms. Hanji waved with both arms and Emilia waved back, promising herself she would figure out how she knew the Section Commander’s anxious-looking companion later on. Right now, she had more important matters to attend to. “I’m serious! They’re good! You’re just a stuffy old man with no appreciation for… art.” 

Yeah. That was seriously the word she went with. 

But not all hope was lost, for it did earn a small ‘heh’ from the man, which was an equally small victory if she did say so herself. “I brought a good mystery novel. No frills. Just a good old fashioned story about a detective on the hunt for a murderer. You interested?” 

“That sounds ridiculous, why are you filling your head with trash?” Apparently, everything was trash to him, regardless of the genre. How open minded. 

“You don’t like mysteries? Oh, come now. You love digging around for information and figuring things out, what’s wrong with reading books about that very same thing?”

He stopped short, turning to her with a set determination in his stance. “Hmm. Maybe I’d like it more if I could solve a few mysteries of my own. How about you be a good little sidekick and help me?” She knew exactly where this was going and was not at all thrilled with this turn of events. Still, she braced herself. Levi wasn’t one to let things go easily. Or ever. So she might as well bite the bullet and get the interrogation over with now. “What made you freak out like that earlier? I want the truth, none of this avoidance bullshit you’re so fond of. It’s annoying when you do that, especially when I have no idea _why_ you’re doing it. Last I checked, _nothing_ has happened between now and this morning. Maybe if I wasn’t stuck in the same spot with _nothing_ to do, I could wait until later to have this conversation, but you can’t expect me to stew in this shit until nightfall, so. Explain yourself. Now.” 

_Oh, look. The proper time is presenting itself. Though, this isn’t exactly what I had in mind. Ugh. How am I supposed to word this?_

Emilia sorted through all the things she didn’t know about her closest friend, specifically the ones that bothered her the most, and settled on the most basic of the bunch. Without really thinking it through, her mouth opened and proceeded to dig her into a hole. “Armin… _Arlert._ Eren _Jaeger._ Mikasa _Ackerman._ Hanji _Zoë._ Erwin _Smith…_ Levi…?” 

Understanding washed over his face and stretched out the wrinkles under his eyes, like he was expecting her to say something completely different and wasn’t quite sure how to move forward. “... _That’s_ what was bothering you?” 

“Among other things in the same vein, yeah.” Looking him in the eye just became harder to do, but she held her ground anyway. 

After a moment, he sighed, long and exasperated. “Ackerman. Levi Ackerman.” 

“Huh? You mean like-” 

He rubbed his hands through his hair and down over his face. “Yeah, yeah, the moody brat. I know. It’s a long story.” Crossing his arms loose over himself, he eyed her suspiciously. “Anything else?” 

“Tons of things, but… if they’re all long stories and you don’t want to talk about it, then I won’t push. I was just…” Emilia struggled for the words to define her feelings of inadequacy, an emotion she _hated,_ but came up short. Or rather, she had the words, but couldn’t bring herself to say them. “...just thinking that I never learned your surname. The others introduced themselves with their full names right off the bat, and I realized that I didn’t know yours. It… bothered me.” 

Levi took a step towards her, then another, never once taking his eyes off hers. Maybe she opened a can of worms she shouldn’t have. “Emilia.”

“Y-yeah?” 

“Listen, because I’m only going to say this once.” He took a breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, a calm overtook his features. “Sometimes I don’t want to tell long stories. There are times when it’s okay, when I can leave things out and make the stories shorter but… I can’t really do that with you, now can I? Still… I won’t get mad at you for asking. I’m not as fragile as you seem to think I am, you don’t have to walk around eggshells with me.” 

“I don’t think you’re fragile!” She never once thought that, not even as a joke. Levi was strong, and that didn’t even begin to scratch the surface. Emilia didn’t need to witness him in battle to know that, she didn’t need to know every little detail of his life to know that he continuously survived through the worst of the worst, again and again, and still kept his head held high. Was he coming to all the wrong conclusions like before, or had she actually been treating him as though she believed otherwise? “Really, I-” 

“Save it. It’s not… _bad_ to think that sometimes, not really. But if you’re going to make yourself sick over simple matters, then I’d rather you just say what’s on your mind than leave me to figure it out myself. Understood?”

“Uh- Y-yes. Understood.” 

He shifted his gaze, watching as Hanji and that man made their way from the bathrooms back towards their carriage. “If it makes you feel any better… I didn’t know my surname until recently. That’s why I never told you.”

“You didn’t kn- … but how?” How did someone not know that type of thing?

“It’s… a long story,” he said, looking back to her hesitantly. “I can tell you later… if you want to listen. But it’s really boring and doesn’t make that much sense, so I wouldn’t blame you if you said no.”  

“Doesn’t make much sense, you say?” She weighed her hands on her hips and shifted to one side, feeling the soft pressure of dirt give way under her boot. “Oh-ho, well then. As you know, I happen to enjoy a good mystery from time to time.”

He _almost_ smiled, _so_ close this time, and reached up to flick her forehead, a gesture he’d been doing more and more as of late. Emilia brought a hand up out of instinct, but wound up bumping her fingers into his. Neither of them seemed to mind. “Well then, I guess we have a long night ahead of us.” Levi backed away and began walking once more towards his subordinates’ carriage, which was behind their own and laced in shadows from surrounding trees. 

“Heh, I suppose we do.”       

They approached Armin, Eren, and Mikasa, who were huddled outside their carriage and drawing figures in the dirt with a twig. Levi didn’t really have any reason to go talk to them, he just claimed to like “keeping tabs” on everything they did while they were traveling. Apparently, Eren had a bad habit of getting lost, so veering on the side of caution didn’t hurt anyone. Really, he was just trying to exhaust as much of his energy as possible before getting back on the road, but he’d never admit it. 

Armin and the others all looked so cute, eyes bright and yapping along to whatever it was that had them so excited. Eren was in charge of the twig and was clearly hogging it. Mikasa didn’t really seem to care, but Armin, being shady, turned his body in search of a bigger stick. Upon closer inspection, Emilia could partially make out what it was they were drawing: a large figure with long hair in the middle - a human with strange, rectangle-like gloves on, from the look of it - and what appeared to be… a monkey? … on one side and a horde of miniscule stick figures on the other. Around the whole image were too many arrows pointing every which way, Emilia couldn’t really make sense of it. And she didn’t have a chance to ask what the drawings meant, because Levi, in one swift and violent motion, pushed a frightened Eren out of the way and destroyed their work with a harsh stroke of his boot. “Are you three stupid? Get back in the carriage. _Now._ ”     

His tone was commanding, threatening, unlike anything Emilia had ever heard from him before. It startled her, how he was able to fall back on his anger so quickly, and with it came the familiar feeling that she should not have been there. With him.   

“Tch. Brats.” He turned and grabbed a hold of Emilia’s forearm, frustration stuck to his features and settled deep into the lines in his brow and by the corners of his eyes. “Let’s go.”

“R-right.” 

Once they were seated back in their own carriage, Erwin was nowhere in sight. At first, they were silent, enough that she could follow the rhythm of his breathing, but then she began fidgeting again, picking at the hem of her sleeve. “Erwin’s probably taking a shit.” Levi leaned an elbow against the window and rested his head on a closed fist, white knuckles stark against his face. “A huge one.” 

“Oh.”  

“It might have gotten stuck.” His right leg picked up where it last left off, bouncing with enough vibrancy to send small tremors throughout the seats, which started a lot sooner this time around than the last. “When you’re as tall as he is, squeezing out shit takes up a lot more time.”   

She placed a hand on his knee, which halted under her fingers. “You may be onto something.” 

He looked from her hand on his leg to her and took a breath, relaxing his arms and fists. “Sorry. About before. Those idiots… they don’t think.” 

“You don’t have to explain anything to me. I understand you’re just doing your job,” which apparently included covering up childlike drawings of monkeys. She traced small circles on his knee with her thumb and was surprised when his leg shifted slightly closer in her direction. She hummed. “As long as you’re okay, then I’m okay.” 

“What do you mean ‘okay’? Can’t you see I’m fine?” 

“I know. I know. Just let me worry about you a little?” 

“Why.”

“Because _someone_ needs to… and I’d like to be the one to do it. So leave the worrying to me, I’m much better at it than you are.” She gave his knee a squeeze for the second time that day and realized, not surprisingly, that she liked the feel of him. He was sturdy and warm, the muscles in his leg pulsing ever so slightly, reminding her that he was living and breathing and solid enough to calm even the most vicious of her fears. She didn’t want to create more distance between them, she’d much rather close the gap, but knew she probably should. A smile found its way to her lips when she moved her hand back to her lap, but his leg remained exactly where it was, close within reach.  

 _This is a silly thing to think about. Maybe even frilly, as Levi would so kindly put it. I shouldn’t want to touch his leg, that’s weird._     

“You burn cookies or whatever when you’re worried, and then you complain over having to make new batches from scratch. I’ve seen it.” He tilted his chin and looked at her with disbelief in his eyes. “What a waste. I don’t see how that’s better.”   

“At least I don’t get in anyone’s face and demand to know whether or not they’re constipated, which is exactly why I don’t let you in the front room when there are customers anymore, might I add. I’d say a few burnt cookies is more desirable than _that_ scenario.”

“I see.” His body relaxed a bit, shoulders rounding out from their usually strict posture. “For someone who worships butter, you clearly have no shame in wasting it. But asking a simple question is ranked lower than your blatant disregard of resources? If someone has nothing to hide, then they shouldn’t mind answering questions honestly.” 

Emilia grinned. She loved when he set himself up like this. “Alright then, Levi. Tell me. When was the last time you were constipated? Are you constipated right now? Since you have nothing to hide, I would appreciate some honesty regarding this _very_ serious issue.” 

Was that a pale red on his cheekbones, or just the late afternoon sunlight playing tricks on her?  

“Tch, you shithead. Who said I have nothing to hide?” Suddenly, he seemed very, _very_ interested in the luggage stacked in front of him. He leaned forward and specifically targeted her stuff, yanking them out of the pile and snooping through the black satchel first. “So. Where’s that book?”  

He reluctantly spent the remainder of the ride pretending to read. 

They reached the inn by nightfall a few hours later. The surrounding village was quaint and cozy enough to leisurely stroll through twice without getting tired. Flies and moths gathered around the lamp posts at the front gate, some switching gears and flying around the newcomers instead. Emilia swatted a few away from her face as Levi passed her satchel down the carriage steps. Erwin had gone ahead already, leaving his stuff behind. Levi offered to carry them into the inn. “I’ll carry your big one, you go inside,” he said, shooing her away. 

“Are you sure? I can carr-”

“Go. Before I kick you. I can reach your crap head from up here, don’t forget.” He paused before turning back to the carriage. “Oh. And that book was stupid. Obviously the gardener murdered that piece of shit banker.” 

“You read the whole thing?!” Honestly, Emilia had just assumed he was skimming through the beginning and pretending to read the rest.  

“Of course not. But clearly I’m right if you’re making that face. Heh.” This was the first time she had ever seen Levi look so pleased with himself, she couldn’t help but feel her chest swell. 

Thinking back to what she remembered of the book, she asked, “How’d you figure it out, then? The gardener’s hardly in the beginning of the story.” 

“Because. He’s a dumbass pig with shit for brains. Guys like that… you can’t trust them.”

“I see,” Emilia chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Good.” He disappeared into the carriage and reemerged with her large bag along with one of Erwin’s, dropping them to the ground next to her feet. “Oi, go inside. Those bugs look like they want to eat you alive. Probably because of all the sweets you eat, if we’re being realistic. Your insides could just be frosting at this point, we might have to dissect you to find out.”  

Emilia gave an exhausted eye roll and a crooked smile. “Fine. But don’t forget you promised me a story later,” she said, pointing a stern finger at him. “Don’t think you can get out of it.”         

Levi looked at her for a moment, then another, the faintest look of surprise passing over him before he turned back to the remainder of the bags. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Don’t go harping up my ass about it, I remember. Brat.”

“Good. I’ll see you inside, then. Levi Ackerman.”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Levi tried really hard to help, poor kid. 
> 
> If you wanna @ me, here's my [tumblr!](https://farodiluce.tumblr.com/)
> 
> Also, huge shout out to SpurningSocialDarwinism for editing this chapter!! :)


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